OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY 


MARY    CECIL    HAY 

ATTHOB  OP  " MISSING,"  "THE  SQUIEE'S  LEO-UJ»~  *«. 


CHICAGO   AND   NEW  YORK: 
BELFORD,  CLARKE   &  COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS. 


mows 

•  0  BOOKBINDING  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

More  water  glideth  by  the  mill, 
Than  wots  the  miller  of. 

TITTTS  ANDEONICTTS. 

A  STRETCH  of  highway  lay  white  and  level  in  the  dusk  of 
the  September  evening,  and  on  its  margin  stood  a  low  red 
tavern,  whose  glory  departed  with  the  last  stage-coach,  and 
which  crumbled  to  ruin,  as  slowly,  but  as  surely,  as  did  its 
grand  old  neighbour  there  behind  the  ivy-weighted  walls  of 
Abbotsmoor.  For  a  whole  mile  this  wall  extended  before 
\t  was  broken  by  the  iron  gates  through  which  a  view  was 
pained  of  the  lodges  and  the  sombre  avenue  ;  and  under 
this  wall,  in  the  September  twilight,  a  travelling-carriage 
rolled  upon  the  wide,  white  road. 

Within  a  few  yards  of  the  iron  gates,  the  horses  were 
pulled  up.  The  postilion,  sitting  square  upon  his  saddle, 
looked  straight  along  the  road,  as  a  well-trained  post-toy 
should ;  the  man-servant,  seated  with  folded  arms  upon  the 
box,  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  roadsi  'e  tavern  half  a  mile 
ahead  ;  and  neither  of  the  men  turned  his  head  one  inch 
when  the  carriage-door  behind  them  was  opened  from 
within.  No  change  upon  their  faces  showed  that  they  even 
anderstood  why  the  horses  had  been  stopped. 

A  gentleman  descended  leisurely  from  the  chaise,  tnmed 
and  addressed  a  few  low  words  to  some  one  within,  and 
then  closed  the  carriage-door  again  quietly.  The  gentleman 
•tood  in  the  shadow  as  he  gave  his  orders  to  the  servant — • 

B 

2136205 


6  OLT    MYDDELT01TS  MONEY. 

stood  in  tTie  shadow  as  he  paused  for  a  minute  to  wafeh  the 
retreating  vehicle — and  was  in  the  shadow  btill  as  he  walked 
np  to  the  gates  of  Abbotsmoor  and  tried  them.  Locked. 
Four  gates  there  were  in  all — a  high  pair  in  the  centre,  and 
a  single  narrow  gate  on  either  side — but  all  locked. 

He  stood  for  a  few  moments  looking  round  him  in  the 
dusk,  and  then  whistled  a  call.  The  summons  was  answered 
at  once.  An  old  man  came  limping  from  the  lodge,  and 
scrutinised  the  visitor  suspiciously,  as  shrewd  old  men  will 
do  when  their  sight  grows  dim. 

"I  heard  the  call,  sir.  I'm  sharp  enough  to  hear,  but 
my  sight  fails  me,  so  I  can't  tell  who  it  is." 

"A  stranger  and  a  traveller,"  the  gentleman  answered 
from  without  the  gates,  as  the  old  man  fumbled  with  the 
rusty  keys,  "  and  anxious,  on  his  way  past  Abbotsmoor,  to 
see  the  house." 

"  It's  late  for  that,"  the  old  man  muttered,  with  a  feeble 
effort  to  turn  the  key  in  the  lock;  "  we  get  but  few  visitors  at 
any  time,  but  they  never  come  after  sunset — and  no  wonder." 

"You've  opened  this  gate  a  thousand  times,  I  daresay, 
but  I  fancy  I  can  do  it  better.  Let  me  try." 

As  the  stranger  spoke,  he  put  one  hand  through  the  bars, 
and  turned  the  key  with  ease  ;  then  he  laughed  a  little  at 
the  old  man's  surprise. 

"  My  ears  are  sharp  to  hear  the  difference  in  voices,"  the 
lodge-keeper  said,  e)em^  this  visitor  with  keenest  interest 
as  he  entered  the  park,  "  but  my  eyes  won't  recognize  faces 
now.  Yoar  voice  has  a  homelike  tone  to  me,  sir,  so  I  know 
it's  English,  though  there's  a  richness  in  it  that  reminds 
me  of  the  foreign  countries  I  used  to  visit  with  my  old 
master.  And  yet — I  ought  to  know  the  tongue  of  the  Far 
West  when  my  own  father  was  an  American." 

"  Surely,"  the  visitor  said,  "  you  have  no  need  to  leek  the 
gate  behind  us.  "Who  would  enter  here  in  the  dusk  ?  " 

"  Who  indeed  ?  "  questioned  the  old  man,  surlily.  "  No, 
eir,  it  was  only  habit.  Such  habit  clings  to  a  man  after  ten 
years  of  it." 

"  Ten  years" — the  stranger  was  pausing  within  the  gates, 
and  booking  thoughtfully  on  among  the  shadows  of  the 
hepvy  trees — "  only  ten  years.  Then  you  were  not  here  at 
*he  time  of  old  Mr  My  dd el  toil's  death  ?  " 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  7 

u  Not  I,  sir — thank  Providence  for  that !  I  was  in 
Germany  at  that  time,  with  my  own  old  master.  It  was 
only  after  my  eyes  and  limbs  failed  me  that  Mr.  Haughtou 
— the  family  solicitor,  and  a  family  connection,  sir — put  me 
here  to  keep  the  keys.  It  wasn't  a  post  many  cared  to  fill ; 
it  isn't  a  post  many  would  care  to  fill — even  half-blind 
cripples  like  myself — now  that  such  a  dark  name  rests  upon 
the  place." 

"  Who  lived  here  at  the  time  of  the  murder  ?  " 

The  question  was  asked  coolly,  and  the  questioner's  eyes 
did  not  come  back  from  their  gaze  among  the  shadows. 

"  The  woman  who  kept  the  lodge  then,  sir,  died  not  long 
after  the  murder." 

"  Then  all  you  know  of  that  time  is  from  hearsay  only  ?  " 

"  From  hearsay  only,  sir.  Who  would  wish  to  know  it 
any  other  way  ?  " 

"  Who  indeed  ?  " 

The  dusk  was  deepening  in  the  park,  and  the  shadows 
lay  a  little  wei:dly  about  the  waters  of  the  lake.  The  old 
man  looked  with  curiosity  after  the  strange  gentleman  as 
he  sauntered  up  the  avenue,  quite  slowly  as  it  seemed,  yet 
with  a  step  which  was  far  from  purposeless  or  listless. 

"  It's  a  queer  hour  to  come  and  view  the  place.  Mostly 
people  choose  broad  daylight  when  they  come  to  see  the 
spot  where  old  Myddelton  was  murdered."  So  the  old  man 
muttered,  while  the  stranger  went  slowly  on  towards  the 
groat  desolate  house,  over  whose  history  a  veil  of  gloom 
end  mystery  hung. 

"It  almost  seems,"  this  visitor  whispered  to  himself,  as 
he  passed  up  the  silent  avenue,  "  as  if  the  mist  of  guilt  upon 
the  place,  and  this  heavy  lethargy  of  isolation  and  disuse. 
had  wrapped  themselves  about  me  since  I  passed  those 
gates.  The  horrible  paralysis  that  stayed  all  life  and  motion 
in  this  spot  has  touched  me  too  ;  or  why  do  I  not  clearly 
follow  out  this  plan,  as  I  have  followed  others  in  my  life  ? 
What  is  this  feeling  upon  me  which  seems  to  stop  me  here 
at  the  very  spot  ?  'Not  to-night,'  it  says.  Why  not  to- 
night ?  It  is  but  the  first  link  of  a  chain  I  have  to  follow 
link  by  link  to  its  end.  Can  I  begin  too  soon  ?  This  in- 
explicable feeling  is  at  any  rate  unworthy  of  a  thought." 

As  he  argued  thus  with  himself,  uttering  the  thought 


OLD   MYDDELTON  B  MONEY. 

aloud  in  the  evening:  silence,  he  raised  his  hat.  and  for  ft 
few  minutes  carried  it  in  his  hand  as  he  walked  on  up  the 
neglected,  grass-mown  avenue.  The  evening  breeze  rustled 
the  green  branches  overhead,  and  with  lazy  enjoyment  he 
lifted  his  face  to  meet  it.  It  was  a  dark,  grave  face,  full  of 
determined  purpose,  yet  most  striking  at  that  moment  was 
its  look  of  intense  patience — not  the  spurious  patience  bora 
of  listlessness  or  indifference,  but  a  steadfast,  manly  patience, 
born  it  might  have  been  in  a  great  repentance,  or  it  might 
have  been  in  a  great  wrong.  It  was  a  face  which  could  wear 
other  expressions,  far  different  from — if  not  warring  against 
— the  quiet,  manful  power  of  enduring  and  forbearing,  so 
plainly  written  there  ;  but  at  that  moment,  raised  among 
the  dusky  shadows,  this  was  its  only  look. 

The  avenue  at  Abbotsmoor  was  nearly  two  milos  in 
length,  for  though,  as  the  crow  flies,  it  would  have  been 
scarcely  a  mile  from  the  lodge  to  the  great  front  entrance, 
yet  the  approach  was  so  curved  and  twisted  that  it  doubled 
the  distance.  In  old  times  neighbouring  squires  used  to 
urge  on  old  Mr.  Myddelton  the  advisability  of  forming  a 
new  approach,  straight  as  an  arrow,  from  the  lodges  to  the 
house  ;  but  their  advice  was  laughed  at  grimly,  aud  the  old 
avenue  kept  its  winding  way. 

So  it  happened  that  the  visitor  was  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  the  house  itself  when  he  caught  his  first  glimpse  of 
it.  He  made  no  stop  in  his  thoughtful,  unhurried  walk  ; 
but  there  grew  a  look  of  keen  intentuess  in  his  eyes,  and 
there  started  into  sudden  life  a  line  of  deep  and  harassed 
thought  between  his  brows. 

"  In  spite  of  the  changes,"  he  said  to  himself,  his  full 
gaze  on  the  house,  "  I  shall  remember  it  all  more  clearly  on 
this  spot," 

The  scene  which  lay  before  him  was  grand  even  in  its 
ntter  desolation,  and  picturesque  even  in  its  heavy,  haunted 
gloom ;  for  on  neither  the  empty  building  nor  the  untrodden 
grass  lay  any  trace  of  that  deed  which  had  made  this  spot  a 
shunned  and  isolated  one. 

"  In  this  weird  light,  and  at  this  lonely  hour,"  the 
stranger  whispered  to  himself,  "  I  shall  see  it  just  as  it 
should  be  seen." 

were  no  steps  to  muiau,  110  Lerrucot-  to  tread.    The 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  9 

mansion  stood  low  on  the  wide,  level  park,  but  it  was  none 
the  Jess  a  grand  and  an  imposing  structure,  viewed  from 
that  last  point  in  the  irregular  avenue. 

The  visitor  trod  more  slowly  now  across  the  lawn,  up  to 
the  wide  oak  doorway  (locked  securely  against  his  examin< 
ing  hand),  then  slowly  on,  past  the  long  row  of  windows 
belonging  to  the  ground  floor,  the  shutters  of  which  were  so 
heavily  barred.  He  counted  them  as  he  sauntered  past  the 
front  of  the  house — eight,  between  the  door  and  the  corner. 
Involuntarily  he  stepped  back  a  few  paces,  and  counted  the 
eight  upon  the  other  side.  As  he  did  so,  a  sound,  indefinite 
and  hardly  audible,  reached  him  from  the  shrubbery 
beyond  the  lawn — a  sound  so  faint  that  it  might  well 
have  been  laid  to  imagination  only,  but  a  sound  about 
which  the  listener,  after  a  minute's  pause,  felt  no  doubt  at  all. 

"  A  cough,"  he  said,  with  lazy  sarcasm,  "  strangled  and 
stifled,  but  a  cough  unmistakably  ;  and,  more  than  that,  a 
man's  cough,  and  still  more  than  that,  a  cough  I've  heard 
before. 

Then  he  sauntered  on.  The  rank  grass  over  which  he 
stepped  was  heavy  with  dew,  yet  often  he  stopped  where  it 
was  longest,  and  stooped  to  gather  a  blossom  from  the  wild 
flowers  which  overran  the  neglected  lawn.  So  he  passed 
from  the  great  front  entrance  round  to  the  south  end  of  the 
house,  turned  and  loitered  past  the  servants'  premises  at  the 
back,  then  turned  another  corner,  and  continued  his  walk — 
a  little  more  slowly — beside  the  shuttered  windows  on  the 
north  side.  At  one,  the  last  in  the  row,  he  made  a  pause, 
not  as  if  in  uncertainty  or  doubt,  but  with  a  settled  purpose. 
First  he  examined  it  critically,  measuring  with  his  eye  ita 
height  and  width,  and  its  depth  from  the  ground  ;  then  he 
turned  his  back  upon  it,  and  took  in,  with  a  keen,  full 
glance,  the  scene  before  it — the  stretch  of  lawn,  the  border- 
ing of  shrubbery  beyond,  and  the  crowd  of  grand  old  elins 
towering  above  it  all  still  farther  on.  For  at  least  ten  long 
minutes  he  stood  so,  his  eyes — dark  gray  eyes,  holding  the 
rare  beauty  of  deep,  clear  thought — earnestly  scanning  the 
dusky  scene,  and  an  utter  stillness  and  vigilance  in  the 
easy  attitr.de. 

1 1  auy  eyes  could  have  been  watching  from  among  the 
over-grown  laurels  opposite,  this  was  a  picture  not  to  be 


I)  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

eisily  either  forgotten  or  understood — so  lonely  and  go  still 
the  scene,  so  easy,  yet  so  full  of  purpose  this  solitary  figure. 
But  why  should  any  watchful  eyes  have  been  hidden  there 
among  the  darkening  laurel  leaves  ? 

The  long,  thoughtful  minutes  were  spent  at  last,  and  the 
lonely  visitor  turned  to  leave  Abbotsmoor.  One  last  glance 
before  he  entered  the  avenue,  and  the  scene  was  photo- 
graphed on  his  mind  indelibly.  The  wide,  high  frontage  of 
the  house  ;  the  rows  of  windows  heavy  with  dust  and  cob- 
web?, their  shutters  closely  barred,  yet  cracked  in  many 
places  ;  the  wide  door,  scratched  and  scarred,  while  a  rank, 
unmanageable  branch  of  ivy  had  fallen  across  it,  as  it'  ta 
form  another  heavy  bolt ;  grass  growing  in  the  cracks  of 
the  stone  steps,  just  as  it  grew  between  the  embrasures  of 
the  windows  ;  wild  flowers  and  garden  flowers  tangled 
together  among  the  weeds  and  grasses  ;  uncut  and  unnailed 
creepers  perishing  helplessly  upon  the  ground,  where  they 
seemed  struggling  to  escape  the  ill-fated  hous-e.  All  the 
ravages  of  wind  and  weather,  all  the  heavy  footprints  of 
time  and  devastation,  all  the  rank  fruit  of  neglect. 

"  There  is  a  rookery  overhead,"  said  the  stranger,  as  he 
pa  zed,  "and  it  is  impossible  but  that  sometimes  the  sun- 
shine finds  its  way  here,  and  the  birds  sing.  It  was  an 
English  home  one.1,  and  years  hence  it  may  be  BO  again, 
although  old  Myddelton's  heir — " 

A  sound  again,  subdued  and  hushed  almost  in  a  moment 
—yet  the  keen  ear  had  detected  it,  and  the  swift,  sportsman- 
like glance  had  discovered  a  figure  watching  stealthily  from 
among  the  trees.  A  few  steps  on  the  long,  tangled  grass, 
and  he  was  beside  this  figure,  looking  down  upon  it  with 
cool,  ironical  curiosity. 

"  Are  you  here  on  your  own  account,  or  are  you  sent  by 
your  employer  ?  " 

The  man  he  addressed  did  not  answer.  Perhaps  that 
stifled  cough  was  stopping  him  ;  but  perhaps  that  quick 
gasp  of  his  breath  was  sudden  fear. 

"  This  is  the  second  time  I  have  caught  you  watching 
me,  and  I  have  a  fancy  for  its  being  the  last.  A  spy  can 
expect  only  one  treatment,  and  here  it  is." 

His  left  hand  was  fast  on  the  man's  collar  ;  with  Lis 
flight  he  broke  a  brunch  above  his  head,  and  the  next  thing 


OLfi  MYDDKLTONS  MONEY.  11 

of  which  the  listener  was  aware  was  a  particular  sensation  of 
smarting  and  stinging  in  his  shoulders,  and  a  general  sensa- 
tion of  smarting  and  stinging  throughout  his  whole  system. 

Grinding  his  teeth  with  rage  and  shame,  he  rose  from  the 
spot  to  which  he  had  ignominiously  been  hurled,  ami 
looked  after  his  chastiser  with  an  ugly  scowl  upon  his 
smooth,  sleek  face. 

"  This  sort  of  thing,"  he  muttered  between  his  teeth,  "  a 
man  never  forgets." 

An  aphorism  few  would  deny  at  any  time,  but  one  which 
certainly  could  not  be  denied  by  those  who  boasted  the 
acquaintance  of  Bickerton  Slimp,  confidential  clerk  in  the 
office  of  Lawrence  Haughton,  attorney-at-law  in  the  town 
of  Kinbury. 

"  I  shall  be  even  with  him  yet ! " 

Such  was  the  magnanimous  conclusion  arrived  at  by  Mr. 
Slimp,  before  he  dragged  his  injured  person  down  the 
avenue  in  the  wake  of  his  assaulter. 

This  assaulter  had  in  the  meantime  reached  the  gates, 
and  the  old  lodge-keeper  held  one  of  them  open  for  him 
while  he  took  a  crown  from  his  purse. 

"  Good  night,"  he  said  then,  genially.  "  Lock  the  gate 
after  me,  so  that  you  may  lock  in  all  other  marauders." 

The  old  man  chuckled  as  he  turned  the  rusty  key. 

"There's  only  myself,  sir,  to  lock  in."  And  the  words 
were  true,  for  Bickerton  Slimp's  modes  of  ingress  and 
egress  had  been  nobly  independent  of  lock  and  bolt,  and, 
though  they  necessitated  a  creeping  progress  unsuited  to  an 
upright  man,  they  had  their  advantage  in  being  known 
only  to  himself. 


The  low,  red  tavern — over  the  door  of  which,  througl 
ruth  and  revelry,  the  sicra  of  the  "  Myddeltoa  Arms  "  hac 
hung  for  fifty  years — felt  that  evening  just  a  shade  of  th< 
importance  which,  according  to  its  own  popular  legends, 
belonged  to  it  in  the  old  coaching  days.  The  arrival  of  t 
private  travelling  carriage,  with  emblazoned  panels  and 
white  silk  lining,  was  not  by  any  means  of  daily  occurrence, 
and  made  the  lazy  ostler  put  down  hia  pipe  with  such 
impetus  thaD  it  broke  into  half-a-dozen  pieces.  The  enter- 


12  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MOXET. 

tainment  of  a  lady  traveller  was  still  less  a  circumstance  of 
daily  occurrence,  and  made  the  fidgety  hostess  nervously 
and  petulantly  remark  to  herself,  as  she  threw  her  soiled 
apron  behind  the  door,  "  Sure  as  ever  there's  nothing  in  the 
house,  somebody's  safe  to  come  !  " 

"You'll  be  wishing  for  tea,  ma'am,"  ehe  suggested, 
coming  blandly  forward  a  minute  afterwards,  to  forestall 
any  idea  of  dinner  which  might  have  lurked  in  the 
traveller's  mind,  "  a  wholesome  knife-and-fork  tea,  as  we 
call  it  ?  I've  as  nice  a  cold  ham  as  ever  was  boiled  ;  and 
with  some  eggs — " 

"  Thank  you,"  the  lady  answered,  passing  through  the 
door  which  the  landlady  held  open,  "anything  you  have.  I 
am  sure  it  will  be  nice,  as  you  say." 

"  Only  for  one,  ma'am  ?  " 

The  fact  was  self-evident,  and  the  useless  piece  of 
enumeration  on  the  part  of  the  landlady  only  the  effect  of 
habit,  but  she  looked  surprised  when,  with  the  answer, 
came  a  vivid  blush. 

Tea  was  served  in  the  shadowy,  low-ceiled  parlour,  where 
H  newly-lighted  fire  struggled  into  existence,  and  added 
Considerably  to  the  shadows,  but  nothing  to  the  light  or 
cheeriuess  ;  when  there  came  the  heaviest  blow  which  the 
landlady  of  the  "  Myddelton  Arms  "  had  felt  for  many  a 
day.  The  cold  boiled  ham — emphatically  the  piece  de 
resistance  of  the  inn  larder — was  gracing  that  long  table  in 
the  parlour,  and  she  had  displayed  there  everything  edible 
or  ornamental  which  the  inn  could  furnish  forth,  when  a 
gentleman  arrived,  walked  coolly  into  the  inn,  and  ordered 
— strange  to  say — tea  for  one.  No  need  for  the  landlady 
to  forestall  him  with  the  suggestion.  Whether  or  not  it 
was  his  habit  to  dine  late,  the  order  for  tea  came  promptly 
enough  from  his  lips  to-night. 

*'  He  doesn't  look  hurried  or  even  hungry,"  thought 
mine  hostess,  gazing  nervously  up  into  his  face  ;  "  will  it  do 
to  ask  him  to  wait  ?  He  looks  kind,  and  a  gentleman," 
was  the  next  nervous  thought ;  "  will  it  do  to  tell  him  how 
I'm  situated  ?" 

At  that  moment  the  gentleman  tsmiled — smiled  almost  as 
if  he  understood  her. 

*'  Perhaps  your  room  is  engaged  ?  " 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  S3 

That  made  it  easy.  The  landlady's  lips  were  unsealed, 
and  she  did  tell  him  exactly — and  rather  circumstantially — 
"  how  she  was  situated."  As  he  stood  listening,  leaning 
against  the  window  of  the  little  bar,  he  took  a  crimson 
leather  purse  from  his  pocket,  and  held  it  in  his  hand.  Hei 
eyes  fell  on  it  as  she  spoke,  and  she  noticed  that  it  was  old 
and  rather  shabby,  but  that  it  was  a  peculiar  purse,  and 
handsomer  than  any  she  had  ever  seen  before. 

"  If  the  lady  will  allow  me  to  join  her  at  tea,  it  will  sav« 
trouble,  will  it? " 

So  he  asked,  opening  the  while  one  of  the  pockets  of  the 
purse,  and  drawing  a  card  from  it. 

"  Yes  sir,  if,  as  you  say,  she  will." 

Mine  hostess  made  this  observation  rather  absently,  gazing 
at  the  many  pockets  of  the  purse,  and  trying  to  read  the  name 
which  was  stamped  in  gold  upon  the  leather  inside  the  flap. 

"  On  second  thoughts,  I  will  not  send  a  card  ;  it  can 
make  no  difference.  Say  a  stranger  asks  this  favour  of  her." 

As  he  put  back  the  card  a  sudden  quizzical  smile  came 
into  his  eyes. 

"  What  sort  of  a  lady  is  she  ?  " 

"Well,  sir," began  the  landlady,  meditatively,  "  I  should 
gay,  if  I  was  asked,  that  she's  an  invalid.  She  looks  white 
enough  to  have  just  come  from  a  sick-bed,  and  she's  hardly 
strength  and  energy  to  move  about ;  she  doesn't  look  cheer- 
ful either.  I  should  say  ill  in  mind  and  body  ;  that's  what 
I  should  say,  sir,  if  I  was  asked." 

Perhaps  the  stranger  thought  she  had  been  asked,  and 
that  he  had  been  answered,  for  without  further  words  he 
turned  away  and  walked  to  and  fro  within  the  circumscribed 
limits  of  the  bar,  until  mine  hostess  reappeared  with  an 
expression  of  intense  relief  on  her  countenance. 

"The  lady  sends  her  compliments,  sir,  and  will  be  very 
happy  if  you  will  join  her.  I'll  take  fresh  plates  and  a  cup  in 
at  once.  I'm  very  glad  it's  arranged  so,  as  you're  in  a  hurry." 

Her  mind  being  thoroughly  at  ease,  and  the  arrange- 
ments propitious,  mine  hostess  could  afford  to  bring  out  a 
little  of  the  gracious  and  accommodating  loftiness  of  the 
si  age-coach  period. 

The  door  was  hardly  closed  upon  her  gnest  when  another 
customer  arrived  at  the  "Myddelton  Arms,"  but  this  lime 


14  OLD   MYDDKLTON'S  MONEY. 

the  landlady  felt  no  nervousness  in  the  prospect  of  the 
entertainment,  for  the  face  of  Mr.  Bickerton  Slimp  was  well 
known  in  the  tavern  bar,  and  the  voice  of  Mr.  Slimp  had  u 
familkr,  even  confidential  tone  when  it  addressed  miiu 
hostess. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Murray,  no  need  to  ask  you  how  you  are  ; 
yon  look  as  blooming  as  usual.  I've  snatched  a  few 
minutes  to  call  in,  you  see.  Ah,  if  your  snug  hostelry  was 
but  a  little  nearer  to  Kinbury,  what  constant  visits  you 
would  have  from  yours  truly  ! " 

"  You  aren't  looking  well,  Mr.  Slimp,"  remarked  the 
landlady,  gazing  critically  into  his  face. 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,  quite  well,"  he  answered,  with  a  move- 
ment of  his  shoulders  which  he  intended  for  a  gesture  of 
deprecation,  but  which  had  the  appearance  of  an  experi- 
ment to  test  their  muscles,  "  but  tired  a  little.  The  old 
man  has  kept  me  very  hard  at  it  to-day." 

"  The  old  man,  indeed  ! "  smiled  the  listener,  with  a 
friendly  tap  upon  the  narrow  shoulder  of  Mr.  Slimp.  "Why, 
Mr  Haughton  cannot  be  more  than  forty,  if  he's  that.  His 
sister  was  born  the  same  year  as  me,  that  was  in  '29,  and 
he's  younger  by  two  years  at  the  very  least  Well,  if  we 
were  born  in  '29,  and  this  is  '71,  aren't  we  forty-two  ?  And 
can  you  call  him  an  old  man  ? " 

"  Ladies  are  never  old,"  smiled  the  lawyer's  clerk  insinu- 
atingly ;  "  but  in  these  degenerate  days,  Mrs.  Murray,  on1 
employers  get  dubbed  old  men,  without  reference  to  the 
year  in  which  they  chanced  to  be  born." 

"When  you  set  up  for  yourself,  then,  your  clerks  will  be 
at  liberty  to  speak  of  you  as  an  old  man,  though  you  can 
scarcely  be — let  me  eee — more  than  Mr.  Hanghton'a  age." 

This  mine  hostess  said  with  a  sly  relish,  for  Bickerton 
Slimp  affected  a  youthful  air  and  youthful  garments,  and 
few  ventured  to  remind  him  of  his  age.  Even  she  could  not 
have  done  so  without  that  dainty  allusion  to  his  "  setting 
np  for  himself,"  the  centre  of  the  labyrinth  in  which  he 
plodded  ;  the  bourne  to  which  he  fancied  crafc  and  cunning 
were  his  surest  guides. 

He  smiled  again  ;  he  had  a  bland,  stereotyped  gmile, 

which   he  considered  a  mighty  weapon  with  the  fair  sex. 

"Just  so;  and  you  shall  rebuke  my  clerks  as  sternly  as 


yon  please,  on  condition  that  you  always  smile  npon  me. 
Is— dear  me,  what  was  I  going  to  say — oh,  is  the  parlour 
vacant  this  evening  ?  " 

Mrs.  Murray  was  a  little  surprised  at  the  question,  and  a 
little  surprised  that  Mr.  SI  imp  still  stood  on  the  chilly 
bricks  in  the  little  hall,  and  did  not  take  his  own  seat  in  the 
bar.  and  light  his  pipe.  But  she  was  not  sorry  for  an  excuse 
to  tell  him  about  those  two  guests  who  were  drinking  tea 
together  now  from  her  best  china,  and  she  did  so  at  large. 
The  lawyer's  clerk  listened  smilingly,  nor  did  he  attempt  to 
gpeak  himself  until  the  narration  was  quite  over.  Then  he 
asked  her  coaxingly  to  mix  him  a  glass  of  whisky  punch,  and 
enumerated  the  different  ingredients  he  required  with  a  culti- 
vated taste  which  would  have  done  no  discredit  to  a  Yankee. 

"  Just  mix  it  so,  Mrs.  Murray,  if  you  please  ;  and  do  it 
yourself,  to  give  it  its  proper  flavour.  You  are  quite  sure 
you  have  Angostura  bitters  in  the  house  ?  " 

Mrs.  Murray  stepped  within  the  bar  and  left  the  lawyer's 
clerk  still  standing  beside  the  parlour  door.  The  mixing  of 
the  punch,  even  with  all  its  requisites,  would  not  take  more 
than  two  minutes,  so  he  had  no  time  to  spare.  With  a  loud, 
demonstrative  carelessness,  he  opened  the  parlour  door  and 
entered  the  room,  stood  a  moment  transfixed  with  astonish- 
ment when  he  found  it  occupied,  uttered  a  meek  and  very 
elaborate  apology  to  the  lady  for  having  assumed  the  room 
to  be  empty,  and  backed  from  it  with  slow — very  slow — 
deference. 

"  I  just  opened  that  door  to  see  what  time  it  was,"  he 
explained,  as  he  entered  the  bar  and  took  up  his  glass  with 
a  beaming  smile  upon  his  face  ;  "  I  knew  my  watch  was 
wrong,  but  did  not  know  how  much.  I  cannot  depend  upon 
your  kitchen  clock  ;  but  that  timepiece  upon  the  parlour 
chimney  I  depend  upon  implicitly,  and  always  did." 

"  Were  they  at  tea  ?  "  inquired  the  hostess,  her  curiosity 
stronger  than  her  pride. 

"  Not — exactly."  Mr.  Slimp  answered  the  question  with 
emotion,  but  whether  this  was  the  effect  of  the  whisky,  or 
of  what  he  had  seen,  was  not  evideut.  "  Not — exactly  ; 
they  were  standing  together  on  the  hearth,  Mrs.  Murray, 
looking  very  interesting  indeed." 

"  ^;  i^fi    are  straners  1 " 


16  OLD  MTDDELTON'a  MONET. 


!    So  we  are  given  to  understand,  if  we  choose." 

"  But  "  —  Mrs.  Murray's  very  breath  was  taken  away  hj 
the  covert  insinuation  —  "but  you  say  they  were  standing 
together  on  the  rug,  Were  they  talking  or  shaking  hands- 
or  anything  ?" 

"  Xot  —  exactly,"  Mr.  Slimp  answered  again,  as  delibe- 
rately as  lef'ore.  "  In  fact,  they  were  standing  there  in  utter 
silence,  which  is  the  suspicious  part  of  it  all.  Do  you  think 
that  if  they  were  strangers  to  each  other  they  would  stand 
so,  without  speaking  ?  No,  my  good  friend  ;  they  would 
have  been  seated  at  table,  and  talking  amiably." 

Mine  hostess  put  on  an  air  of  worldly  wisdom  equal  to 
Mr.  Slimp's,  and,  not  to  be  behindhand  in  other  qualities, 
remarked,  with  more  vivacity  than  veracity,  that  she  had 
"  suspected  so  all  along." 

The  next  moment  she  had  left  the  bar,  for  the  parlour 
bell  had  rung,  and  she  always  liked  —  as  she  expressed  it  — 
to  answer  her  own  bells. 

"  It's  for  the  carriage,  Mr.  Slimp,"  she  whispered,  look- 
ing in  at  the  bar  on  her  return.  "  I  must  go  and  tell  the 
servants  ;  they  aro  having  supper  in  the  kitchen.  I  left  the 
girl  to  see  to  them." 

"  Wtiir.  Mrs.  Murray,"  called  Slimp,  in  a  subdued,  eager 
voice  ;  "  I  will  go  round  to  the  yard  myself,  and  order  the 
horses  to  be  put  to." 

It  was  almost  dark  in  the  yard  now,  and,  though  it  im- 
peded his  examination,  it  certainly  afforded  Mr.  Slimp  the 
opportunity  of  conducting  it  unperceived.  The  ostler  ol 
the  "  Myddelton  Arms  "  was  glad  to  see  Mr.  Slimp  and  to 
converse  with  him,  but  the  postilion,  when  he  came  briskly 
out  and  took  his  seat,  and  the  gentleman's  gentleman  who 
Stood  quietly  by  until  the  horses  moved  and  then  followed 
<;hem  to  the  front  door  of  the  inn,  exhibited  a  little  more 
surprise  at  the  effort  he  made  to  enter  into  conversation  with 
them,  and  discouraged  those  efforts  with  cool  civility. 

The  carriage  lamps  were  lighted,  the  horses  fresh  and 
restive.  The  breath  of  (.he  near  horse  actually  fanned  the 
cheek  of  Mr.  Slimp  when  he  leaned  against  the  house  look- 
ing on.  The  lady  for  whom  the  beautiful  carriage  waited 
came  slowly  and  timidly  from  the  parlour,  while  the  gentle- 
man, who  was  indebted  to  her  lor  his  accommodation, 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  17 

followed  her  leisurely.  It  was  natural,  of  course,  that  he 
should  see  her  to  her  carriage.  She  bade  good  evening  to 
the  landlady,  wrapped  her  cloak  tightly  about  her,  drew  a  soft 
wool  veil  down  over  her  face,  and  took  her  seat.  One  of  her 
bands  was  full  of  flowers,  a  curious  mixture  of  wild-flowers 
and  of  cultivated  blossoms  run  to  seed ;  the  other  she 
offered  to  the  gentleman  ;  and  he,  standing  at  the  carriage 
door,  took  it,  and  quietly  wished  her  good  night.  After  a 
moment's  pause  he  went  back  into  the  inn  parlour.  Mrs. 
Murray  had  performed  her  last  curtsey,  and  the  horses  had 
made  a  few  steps  forward,  when  he  came  out  again,  and 
apoke  up  to  the  servant  on  the  box  seat,  while  the  postilion 
drew  in  his  eager  horses, 

"  Your  lady  left  this  purse  behind  her  in  the  tavern." 

The  servant  stooped  with  a  touch  of  his  hat  and  took  the 
purse  ;  the  gentleman  stepped  back,  and  the  carriage  went 
on  its  way.  But  Mrs.  Murray  had  not  regained  her  breucu 
yet.  In  her  officiousness  at  something  -having  been  left 
behind,  she  had  gone  close  up  to  the  lamps,  and  so  she  saw 
that  the  purse  he  handed  to  the  lady's  servant  was  the  purse 
she  had  last  seen  in  his  hands  when  he  took  his  card  from 
it,  the  worn  crimson  purse,  with  the  many  pockets  and  the 
name  stamped  in  gold. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  she  seems  very  nervous  and  deli- 
cate, sir  ?  " 

Mine  hostess  made  this  inquiry  merely  out  of  curiosity  for 
his  reply ;  but  felt  very  little  enlightened  when  that  was 
given. 

"  I  do  indeed." 

For  nearly  an  hour  he  stayed  at  the  inn,  and  for  this  hour 
Mr.  Slimp's  life  was  a  burden  to  him.  The  cool,  half- 
quizzical  eyes  of  the  man  who  had  thrashed  him,  seemed 
following  him  everywhere,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  making 
him  uncomfortable  and  ill  at  ease.  Once  or  twice  the 
embryo  attorney  became  so  seriously  depressed  that  he 
resolved  to  start  at  once  for  Kinbury,  but  lie  never  carried 
out  the  resolution.  He  had  a  plan  to  work  out  with  which 
a  sudden  departure  might  have  interfered,  and  besides  that, 
it  might  almost  have  looked  like  fear — strange  and  un- 
natural hypothesis  after  that  scene  among  the  trees  at 
Abbotsmoor  ! 


13  OLD   MYDDELTON'8  MONEY. 

It  was  an  idle  hour  which  the  stranger  spent  at  the  road- 
side tavern,  but  he  did  not  apparently  object  to  wasting  it. 
Wherever  he  stood  or  sat  ;  to  whomsoever  he  talked  ;  with, 
whomsoever  he  laughed ;  if  he  did  not  laugh  or  speak  afeall ; 
lounging  and  loitering  there  with  utter  indolence,  yet  with 
a  grace  which  had  no  listlessness  or  supineness — he  pursued 
the  luckless  clerk  with  this  cool,  amused  gaze  of  his.  It  was 
never  angry  ;  it  was  far  from  insolent ;  it  was  only  a  gaze  of 
quiet  amusement.  But  perhaps  the  contempt  which  Mr. 
Sliinp  read  in  it  was  not  all  born  of  his  imagination  only, 
though  certainly  the  threat  he  read  there  was.  The  hand- 
some,  amused  eyes  held  no  threat  for  such  a  pitiable  object 
iw  the  man  who  had  cringed  and  fawned  under  an  upraised 
arm. 


CHAPTER  IL 

A  girl  who  has  so  many  wilful  ways, 

She  would  have  caused  Job's  patience  to  forsake  him, 
Yet  is  so  rich  in  all  that's  girlhood's  praise, 
Did  Job  himself  upon  her  goodness  gaze, 

A  little  better  she  would  surely  make  him. 

THE  "  Myddelton  Arms  "  stood  on  the  highway  about  a 
mile  and  a  half  from  Kinbury,  and  at  about  the  same  dis- 
tance on  the  other  side  the  town,  lay  the  small  estate  of 
Deergrove,  sheltered  at  the  back  by  the  grove  which 
originally  gave  it  its  name,  and  against  which  the  walla 
of  the  house  stood  out  with  dazzling  whiteness,  but  tm 
sheltered  in  the  front,  where  its  windows  glistened  in  the 
noonday  sun,  unbroken  and  unrelieved  by  any  waving  leaf 
or  blossom,  and  where  the  flower-beds,  so  perfect  in  fheir 
outline,  stared  thirstily  up  in  the  summer  days,  and  wai-ched 
for  the  cool,  coy  shadows  of  the  passing  clouds. 

"  But  it  does  not  signify  much,"  as  one  of  Mrs.  Trent's 
visitors  said  to  herself,  walking  slowly  up  the  smooth  and 
well-kept  lawn  ;  "  they  grow  no  flowers  here  but  those  that 
love  the  glare." 

The  summer  had  passed  its  middle  age,  yet  the  round 
beds  were  gay  in  their  scarlet  and  yellow  robes.  It  was 
still  quite  warm  and  pleasant  in  the  dusk  of  the  September 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONKT.  1ft 

,  so  the  young  girl  sauntered  slowly  up  tne  drive, 
thinking  how  beautiful  it  would  be  in  the  grove  behind  the 
house,  where  the  twilight  was  so  dim  and  silent. 

Within  the  house  a  man-servant  had  shut  the  daylight 
from  one  room,  arid  was  lighting  it — as  he  had  been  skilfully 
trained  to  do — to  show  off  at  their  best  the  snow-white 
damask,  the  glittering  plate,  and,  above  all,  the  faces  and 
figures  of  the  ladies  of  the  house.  In  the  drawing-room  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  small  paved  hall  the  daylight  was 
Btill  allowed  to  linger. 

A  moderate-sized  and  modernly  furnished  drawing-room, 
suggestive  of  ample  means,  and  luxurious  taste,  but  with 
one  vague,  inexplicable  want.  This  deficiency  might  not 
have  been  felt  by  many  of  those  who  met  here,  but  to  those 
who  recognised  it  at  all,  it  was  evident  in.  everything  the 
handsome  room  contained,  or  rather  it  was  so  ever-present 
there  that  it  made  itself  felt  in  spite  of  all  those  attributes 
of  ease  and  luxury,  or  of  art  and  literature,  which  this 
drawing-room  at  Deergrove  held.  It  peeped  from  the 
gli-'tening  blue  curtains,  and  lay  on  the  deep  white  rug.  It 
nestled  among  the  silken  cushions,  and  lingered  about  the 
laden  tables.  It  stared  back  from  the  vivid,  well-framed 
pictures  on  the  walls,  and  echoed  even  from  the  gleaming 
keys  ot  *r>  grand  piano. 

It  was  only  one  of  the  four  occupants  of  the  room  who, 
that  evening,  was  conscious.of  this  vague  sense  of  something 
wanting.  If  it  had  been  possible  for  the  others  to  feel  it, 
the  void  could  not  have  existed. 

A  group  of  four,  sitting  at  ease,  with  very  little  of  the 
air  of  expectancy  usual  to  the  waiting  minutes  before  dinner. 
The  hostess  reclined  in  a  wide  easy-chair  beside  one  of  the 
bay  windows.  She  was  a  large,  languid  woman,  elegantly 
dressed,  but  possessing  in  her  handsome  face  that  great 
want  which  all  her  house  held.  S:ie  had  three  claims  to 
individuality,  and  three  only — a  fine  figure,  a  great  ambition, 
and  an  overweening  pride  in  her  only  child.  And  Mrs. 
Trent  was  performing  her  own  peculiar  mission  as  she  sat 
emiling  upon  her  daughter  and  her  guests,  and  bringing  in, 
at  every  opportunity,  dainty  allusions  to  her  titled  acquaint- 
ances. In  the  corner  of  a  small  couch  near  her,  reclined 
her  daughter  Theodora,  leaning  forward  gracefully  from  th« 


?0  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET 

cushions,  while  her  long  skirts  of  preen  satin  lay  in  ricb 
folds  upon  the  white  ruir.  Her  hair,  of  pale  brown,  was 
dressed  high  upon  her  head,  as  was  the  fashion  of  that  year, 
and  a  butterfly  of  gold  and  er.ieralds  shone  with  almo>t 
dazzling  lustre  among  the  plaits  above  her  temple.  H<-r 
features  were  clearly  cub  and  regular,  like  her  mother's  ; 
and  her  eyes  were  of  the  sa'ue  li_rht  blue  ;  but  her  lips  were 
still  more  haughty  in  their  curves,  and  even  a  little  colder  in 
their  rest.  A  handsome  woman  undeniably  was  Theodora 
Trent,  yet  in  her  faultless  features  that  guest,  to  whom  her 
face  is  turned  so  often,  sees  that  one  vague  deficiency  which 
is  about  him  always  in  this  house. 

Upon  the  rug,  with  his  elbow  on  the  chimney-piece,  and 
the  fingers  of  one  hand  toying  with  his  silky,  pale 
moustache  and  whiskers,  lounged  Captain  Hervey  Trent, 
nephew  of  his  hostess,  and  the  husband  selected  for  her 
only  daughter — not  simply  because  he  was  so  sure  to  in- 
herit old  Myddelton'fl  money,  but  because  he  was  in  every 
way  suitable  for  a  son-io-law.  Handsome  and  elegant,  he 
graced  society,  and  would  add  to  her  daughter's  popularity  ; 
easy  and  indolent,  he  would  not  be  likely  to  rebel  against 
the  will  of  a  mother-in-law. 

Decidedly  Captain  Trent  was  a  handsome  man.  There 
never  was  heard  a  dissentient  voice  when  the  fact  was 
asserted,  while  no  one  was  more  thoroughly  aware  of  its 
truth  than  Captain  Hervey  Trent  himself.  He  was  twenty- 
five — his  cousin  Theodora's  age  exactly — and  boasted  the 
regular  features  and  blue  eyes  which  characterised  the 
Trents  :  he  stood  five  feet  ten  in  his  boots,  and  measured 
the  approved  number  of  inches  across  the  shoulders,  and, 
beyond  all  this,  he  possessed  equally  the  power,  and  the 
time,  and  the  inclination  to  dress  to  the  very  perfection  of 
what  he  termed  "good  form."  He  was  a  man  with  a 
musical,  passionless  voice,  and  white,  listless  hands;  able  to 
bear  with  no  unhandsome  grace  the  burden  of  himself  and 
the  boredom  which  surrounded  him  ;  and  to  go  through  life 
as  a  gentleman  should  who  rightly  understands  the  exi- 
gencies of  "good  form  ;"  and  can  utterly  ignore  so  vulgar 
an  abstract  idea  as  emotion. 

A  great  contrast  to  her  nephew,  was  the  one  guest  whom 
Mrs.  Trent  entertained  this  evening — BO  great  a  contrast  to 


OLD  M7DDE1  .TON'S   MONEY.  21 

them  all,  indeed,  that  not  for  years  were  they  to  comprehend 
the  unreached  heights  and  unsounded  depths  of  a  nature 
such  as  his.  Nineteen  women  out  of  twenty  would  unhesi- 
tatingly have  pronounced  Captain  Hervey  Trent  the  hand- 
somer man  of  the  two;  not  one  woman  out  of  twenty  could 
have  lavished  on  Hervey  Trent  one  tithe  of  the  thought, 
and  curiosity,  and  admiration  which  were  won  from  them 
— sometimes  even  against  their  will — by  Royden  Keith. 

We  have  seen  him  before  in  the  evening  dusk  at  Abbots- 
moor.  Theodora  Trent  had  seen  him  before,  but  his  face 
was  still  a  riddle  to  her,  as  it  had  been  from  the  first,  and  as 
it  was  still  to  be.  It  was  a  grave  face  when  at  rest,  with  its 
strange  mixture  of  power  and  patience — a  face  full  of  deep 
and  concentrated  thought,  but  with  never  a  shade  of  gloom 
upon  it,  or  trivial  fretfulness  ;  a  face  that  could  be  only 
brave,  and  fearless,  whether  shadowed  by  that  depth  of 
thought,  or  brightened  by  the  rare  smile  which  Theodora 
tried  to  provoke.  Its  skin  was  so  browned  by  the  sun,  the 
moustache  and  the  short  hair  were  so  thick  and  dark,  the 
lashes  so  long,  and  the  teeth  so  white,  that  many  took  Eoy- 
den  Keith  for  a  native  of  Southern  Spain  or  Italy.  But 
that  idea  vanished  after  the  first  few  minutes,  and  most 
especially  when  he  spoke.  Though  puzzled  a  little  now  and 
then  by  the  trace  of  foreign  travel,  no  one  could  help  being 
struck  by  what  was  essentially  English  in  him;  the  straight- 
forward glance  of  his  eyes,  clear- judging  and  tar-seeing,  and 
the  voice,  which,  whether  ringing  to  anger,  falling  to  quiet 
irony,  or  softening  to  pathos,  was,  despite  an  accent  or  an 
idiom,  picked  up  unconsciously  in  foreign  lands,  most 
thoroughly  English. 

He  was  sitting  opposite  Miss  Trent,  his  elbow  on  a  table 
near  the  couch  on  which  she  sat.  She  looked  from  him  up 
to  Captain  Trent,  and  down  to  him  again.  Even  her  unob- 
servant eyes  were  puzzled  by  the  difference  in  the  attitudes 
of  the  two  young  men  ;  and  she  turned  for  the  last  time 
from  her  cousin's  leaning  form,  and  the  slow  motion  of  his 
hands,  to  the  tall,  well-knit  figure,  which,  though  full  of 
etrength  and  activity,  was  yet  capable  of  an  ease  and  still- 
ness almost  remarkable. 

"  And  can  you  really  mean,  Mr.  Keith,"  she  said,  drop 
ping  her  fiugars  on  a  cabinet  portrait  of  herself  which  ley 

G 


22  OLD  MYDDELTOXS  MOSffT. 

upon  the  table  beside  her,  "that  you  hare  never  been 
photographed  before." 

"  Why,  '  before '  ?  "  asked  Royden,  extending  his  hand 
for  the  picture. 

"  After  all,  I  am  rather  glad,"  she  mused  smilingly, 
"*  because  now  your  first  photograph  will  be  taken  with  us." 

"  How  will  that  happen,  Miss  Trent  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  answered,  watching  his  face  as  he 
examined  the  portrait.  "  On  the  day  of  our  pic-nic  at 
Abbotsmoor,  a  little  French  photographer,  who  lives  in 
Station,  is  to  be  there  with  his  camera,  and  take  us  all,  with 
the  old  mansion  for  a  background.  Now  you  see  why  I  am 
glad  that  will  be  your  first  portrait." 

"  Hardly."  Mr.  Keith  said  this  quietly,  as  he  bent 
over  the  picture,  and  Theodora  looked  in  vain  for  a  smile. 

"  Interesting  scene,"  remarked  Captain  Hervey,  raising 
his  blue  eyes  slowly  from  the  rug ;  "  Lady  Lawrence  re- 
quires the  picture,  I  believe  ;  at  any  rate,  she  has  proposed 
it  through  her  lawyer.  The  dramatis  persons  are  to  be  old 
Myddelton's  relations,  and  the  scene  his  ruinous  estate.  An 
elegant  group  and  cheerful  surroundings— eh,  Mr.  Keith  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  all  old  Mr.  Myddelton's  relations." 

"  Yon  know  the  chief  of  them,  Mr.  Keith,"  Theodora 
answered,  unconscious  of  the  vanity  of  her  words,  and  of  the 
smile  which  accompanied  them,  "  and  you  shall  see  them  all 
on  Thursday  at  Abbotsmoor.  You  will  not  be  too  proud  to 
be  photographed  among  them,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Without  being  one  of  the  family,  ought  I  to  be  included 
in  the  picture  ?  " 

There  was  an  intonation  that  baffled  Theodora,  and  she 
looked  up  uneasily. 

"  Certainly  ;  I  shall  insist." 

She  said  this  with  her  sweetest  smile,  and  a  certain 
manner  which  many  young  ladies  of  the  present  age  affect — 
a  gracious  condescension  and  self-assertion  which  in  the  last 
century  it  would  have  taken  a  middle-aged  matron  of  the 
highest  society  to  make  bearable,  but  which  now  is  chosen 
and  assumed  by  many  who,  while  they  speak  with  open 
contempt  of  their  fast  or  unformed  sisters,  fail  to  see  where 
they  themselves  have  overstepped  the  lily-bordered  path  of 
and  simple  girlhood. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY  23 

"  One  other  member  of  old  Myddelton's  family  you  will 
Bee  liere  to-ni»hi,  Mr.  Keith,"  remarked  Mrs.  Trent,  in  a 
tone  which  seemed  to  entreat  his  leniency  for  the  person  of 
whom  she  spoke  ;  "  she  is  a  niece  of  mine,  and  cousin  of 
my  daughter's,  though  she  belongs  to  quite  the  other  side  of 
the  house  " — on  that  "  quite  "  Mrs.  Trent  laid  a  deliberate 
emphasis.  "  We  like  to  ask  her  here  occasionally  to  show 
her  a  little  society.  She  is  a  grown-up  girl  now,  and  not 
unpresentable  ;  so  I  do  all  I  can  for  her,  and  allow  her  as 
close  an  intercourse  with  my  daughter  as  my  daughter  chooses 
to  admit." 

"Poor  little  Honor,"  added  "  my  daughter,"  with  a  laugh 
of  particular  complaisance.  "  She  is  a  thorough  Craven,  as 
was " 

"  A  thorough  coward  ? "  Royden  asked,  when  she  so 
abruptly  paused. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Keith,"  laughed  Theodora,  pleasantly,  "you 
know  what  I  mean.  At  least,  you  do  not  know,  of  course. 
Why  should  you  be  expected  to  know  anything  about  old 
Myddelton's  family  ?  But  this  is  how  it  is.  Old  Mr. 
Myddelton,  you  must  understand,  had  one  brother  and  one 
sister,  both  a  good  deal  younger  than  himself.  The  brother 
married  a  Miss  Craven — quite  a  portionless  girl — and  the 
sister  married  very  well.  She  did  not  agree  with  her  brother 
as  a  young  girl,  and  went  out  with  a  friend  to  India,  where 
she  married  Sir  Hervey  Lawrence,  a  very  rich  old  Baronet 
of  an  excellent  family.  This  marriage  pleased  her  brother 
immensely." 

"  Had  neither  brother  nor  sister  any  children  ?  " 

"  The  only  child  of  old  Mr.  Myddelton's  brother,"  put  in 
Mrs.  Trent,  considering,  perhaps,  that  her  daughter's 
genealogical  powers  had  been  taxed  to  the  utmost,  "  was  the 
miserable  and  abandoned  Gabriel,  of  whom,  of  course,  you 
have  heard  and  read  ;  we  will  put  him  out  of  the  conversa- 
tion at  once,  if  you  please.  There  was  no  other  child,  and 
Lady  Lawrence  had  none  at  all,  so  the  remaining  relations, 
or  rather  connexions,  are  the  only  children  of  Sir  Hervey 
Lawrence's  brother  and  sister,  and  Miss  Craven's  brother 
and  sister." 

"  The  brother  and  sister  of  Miss  Myddelton's  husband, 
»nd  the  brother  and  sister  of  Mr.  Mvddeiton's  wile  j 


24  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

do    I    understand    that    aright?"    inquired    her    guest, 
quietly. 

"  Yes,  that  is  it  exactly,"  put  in  Miss  Trent,  hastening  to 
take  the  conversation  upon  herself  again.  "  Now  see  how 
plainly  I  will  describe  them  to  you.  Sir  Hervey's  sister  had 
two  sons— my  father,  and  Hervey's  father — and  his  brother 
had  one  daughter,  Mrs.  Haoghton,  of  The  Larches,  near 
here.  She  and  her  husband  died  years  ago,  but  the  son, 
Mr.  Haughton,  is  a  solicitor  in  Kinbury,  and  Miss  Haughton 
keeps  his  house.  Well,  then,  on  the  other  side  "—Miss 
Trent  illustrated  her  narrative  by  the  action  of  her  jewelled 
fingers,  and  Mr.  Keith  seemed  readily  to  follow  her—"  Miss 
Craven's  brother  and  sister  had  each  an  only  daughter.  The 
brother's  daughter  is  to  be  here  to-night ;  and.4he  sister's 
daughter  is  Phoebe  Owen,  a  silly  girl,  who  tries  one's  patience 
more  than  Honor  does. 

"Then,  except  yourself,  Miss  Trent,  all  the  relations  of 
Mr.  Myddelton  are  orphans — or  rather,  I  should*  say,  as 
Mrs.  Trent  did,  the  connexions,  for  I  fail  to  trace  one  single 
tie  of  real  relationship  ?  " 

"  Yes,  all  orphans ;  but  how  funny  it  is,"  laughed 
Theodora,  "to  speak  of  Mr.  and  Miss  Haughton  as  orphans  ! 
Why,  he  is  almost  a  middle-aged  man,  and  she  is  older. 
He  is  the  guardian  of  Honor  and  Phoebe,  who  have  lived  at 
The  Larches  ever  since  they  left  school." 

"Mr.  Haughton  is  a  very  clever  lawyer,"  interposed 
Mrs.  Trent,  languidly:  "but  we  do  not  visit,  save  just 
occasionally  to  keep  up  appearances.  They  move  in  a 
different  circle  from  ours." 

"I  don't  believe  they  move  at  all,  mamma,"  smiled 
Theodora ;  "  they  stagnate,  I  think  ;  and  Jane  Haughton 
looks  like  a  curiosity  when  she  goes  out  anywhere." 

"  After  all  that  rigmarole,  Mr.  Keith,"  remarked  Captain 
Hervey,  from  his  position  on  the  rug,  "  do  you  feel  ambitions 
of  being  one  of  the  group  to  be  photographed  in  front  of  Ab- 
botsmoor  for  Lady  Lawrence's  benefit  ?— for  the  picture  is  to 
De  sent  to  her  ladyship  as  a  delicate  attention  from  her  heirs." 

"A  rather  incongruous  addition  to  the  family  group," 
fmiled  Mr.  Keith. 

"  But  I  am  bent  upon  having  you  among  us,"  insisted 
Miss  Trent.  And,  when  she  appealed  to  her  mother,  Mrs. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  25 

Trent  smiled  a?sent,ingly,  though  even  she  could  see  how 
gilly  and  inconsiderate  was  the  request. 

"  Theo,"  remarked  Captain  Trent,  breaking  in  upon  the 
silence  which  followed  her  speech,  "it  is  five  minutes  to 
seven.  You  should  speak  to  Honor  Craven  about  being  in 
good  time." 

"  I  did,  Hervey,  and  she  says  you  told  her  that  it  was  not 
comme  ilfaut  to  be  too  early  anywhere." 

"  I  think  the  child  is  anxious  to  learn,  Hervey,"  remarked  his 
aunt, placidly,  "and  you  are  helpingher  to  lose  her gaucherie." 

Reading  Captain  Trent's  handsome,  lazy  smile,  a  suspicion 
crossed  Royden's  mind. 

"  But  I  will  judge  for  myself,"  he  thought ;  and  just  at 
that  moment  the  drawing-room  door  was  opened  to  admit 
the  girl  who  had  been  so  long  sauntering  from  The  Larches 
to  Deergrove. 

"Miss  Craven." 

Theodora  rose  to  meet  her  cousin,  but  with  such  a  very 
slow  grace  that  the  girl  had  come  among  them  all  before 
her  hand  was  taken. 

Royden  looked  up  to  see  this  "child"  whom  Captain 
Hervey  was  graciously  instructing,  and  rose,  prepared  for 
his  introduction.  From  that  moment  until  he  took  his 
place  opposite  her  at  the  dinner-table,  he  did  not  think  01 
Bitting  again. 

For  the  few  minutes  before  the  butler  announced  dinner 
she  chatted  with  no  appearance  of  even  seeing  how  her  two 
cousins  held  themselves  aloof  from  her,  and  with  no  maiivaise 
honte  in  the  frank  occasional  glance  she  gave  to  Royden 
Keith.  In  vain  he  looked  for  the  gaucherie;  in  vain  he 
looked  for  a  glimpse  of  the  anxiety  for  Captain  Hervey's 
instruction  ;  he  only  saw  a  young  and  beautiful  girl  whose 
manners  had  a  free  and  natural  grace  which  was  as  far 
removed  from  Theodora's  languidelegance  as  is  the  flight  of  a 
swallow  in  the  air  from  the  gliding  of  a  swan  upon  the  water. 

With  curious  intentness  he  watched  her  through  those 
waiting  minutes,  and  the  study  seemed  a  fresh  one  to  this 
man  who  had  travelled  over  half  the  world,  and  studied  the 
beauty  of  so  many  races  ;  and  who,  though  little  more  than 
thirty  years  of  age,  had  lived  a  wider,  larger  life  than  most 
of  the  gray-haired  men  he  met 


26  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

Honor  Craven  rose  when  the  servant  announced  the  dinnei 
for  which  Captain  Trent  had  been  anxiously  waiting  ;  and 
for  the  few  moments  that  she  stood  there  in  the  daylight 
Hoyden's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her.  She  was  a  girl  <>t 
apparently  eighteen  or  nineteen  years  of  age,  slight  and  tall, 
iviih  a  figure  rounded  to  the  perfection  of  womanhood,  yet 
possessing  the  supple  grace  and  freedom  of  a  child.  Her 
dimpled  arms  and  neck  shone  with  a  smooth  and  silky 
whiteness  through  her  transparent  dress.  Her  hair — rich, 
soft  hair,  of  bright  chestnut  brown — was  twisted  into  a  coil 
high  upon  her  head  ;  and,  though  no  one  could  see  how  the 
ends  fell  naturally  into  loose  rich  curls — as  they  do  when 
Honor  lets  it  down  at  night — still  everyone  could  see  the 
soft,  natural  wave,  where  it  lay  across  her  forehead,  and  was 
brushed  from  her  smooth  white  temples.  Her  eyes  were 
gray,  long,  and  beautifully  shaped,  ready  in  an  instant  to 
brighten  to  a  sunny  smile,  and  ready  in  an  instant,  too,  to 
darken  to  a  grave  and  tender  sympathy.  Her  nose  was  small 
and  straight  ;  and  her  white  and  even  teeth  would  have 
given  beauty  to  any  smile,  even  without  the  flash  of  the 
brilliant  eyes. 

All  this  he  saw,  yet  he  could  not  even  have  attempted  a 
description  of  Honor  Craven's  face,  because  its  rare  and 
matchless  beauty  was  a  beauty  not  of  form  and  tint  alone. 

"  Hervey,  I  must  entrust  both  the  young  ladies  to  you." 

Mrs.  Trent  said  this  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  in  Honor's 
direction,  intended  as  a  gracious  encouragement  for  the  girl 
to  come  forward  and  share  with  Theodora  the  ineffable  ad 
yantage  of  Captain  Hervey's  support  across  the  hall.  Then 
the  hostess  laid  her  plump  hand  on  Hoyden's  sleeve,  and, 
under  his  silent  escort,  followed  the  young  people  as  near 
as  the  length  of  Theodora's  train  would  allow.  The  few 
remarks  she  made  were  bland  and  comfortable  ones,  yet  was 
she  all  the  time  keenly  aware  of  a  little  scene  enacted  be- 
fore her;  and  the  sight  brought  a  smile  of  satisfaction  to  her 
lips,  and  a  thought  which  was  compassionately  pleasant. 

"  Poor  fhild,  she  always  feels  de  trap  with  Hervey  and 
Iheodora." 

Mr.  Keith,  too,  had  been  watching  the  three  figures  in 
front;  and  though  no  smile  stirred  his  lips,  there  wag 
%  glance  of  keen  amusement  in  his  eyes,  for  Honor  had 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  27 

refused  Captain  Trent's  arm,  and  was  walking  in  her  own 
way  to  the  dining-room,  with  a  pretty,  quiet  nonchalance 
which  she  did  not  attempt  to  hide  or  disguise.  There 
were  two  feet  at  least  of  space  between  Captain  Hervey'e 
unoccupied  arm  and  the  small  gloved  hand  of  the  girl ;  and 
the  watcher  behind  would  fain  have  seen  whether  Captain 
Trent  comprehended  this  behaviour  in  the  pupil  who  was 
BO  eager  to  be  initiated  by  him  into  the  mysteries  of  "  good 
form,"  and  who  knew  nothing  of  "  society,"  save  what  he 
kindly  exhibited  before  her  ;  but  the  back  of  Captain 
Trent's  fair  head  alone  was  visible,  and  that,  at  all  events, 
was  unruffled. 

"  My  nephew  offered  you  his  arm,  Honor,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Trent,  as  she  motioned  the  girl  to  the  solitary  seat  on 
her  left  hand;  "you  should  have  taken  it,  my  dear." 

"  Should  I  ?  "  questioned  Honor.  "  You  will  be  tired 
presently  of  telling  me  what  I  should  do  or  leave  undone  ; 
won't  you,  Mrs.  Trent  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  try  to  learn,"  was  the  benignant  reply. 
*'  Theodora  and  I  will  be  patient  with  yon  to  the  end,  and 
Captain  Hervey  is  really  anxious  to  see  you  study  appear- 
ances. His  eye,  of  course,  is  offended  by  awkwardness, 
but  otherwise  he  is,  I'm  sure,  pleased  to  see  you  always." 

"  Hervey,"  the  girl  said,  turning  her  eyes  fully  upon  her 
cousin,  as  he  took  his  seat  at  the  foot  of  the  table,  "  when 
shall  I  cease  to  otfend  your  eye,  so  that  that  delightful  time 
may  come  when  you  will  be  pleased  to  see  me  always  ?  " 

"  I  am  pleased  to  see  you  now,"  remarked  Hervey,  with 
Jazy  patronage;  "  I  was  saying  to  Theo,  only  this  morning, 
that  your  manners  were  very  much  improved." 

"  Afc  least,"  observed  Miss  Trent,  indifferently,  "  you 
said  they  were  a  pleasant  contrast  to  Phosbe's." 

"  Only  this  morning,"  echoed  Honor,  with  wilful  miscon 
ception;  "  I'm  glad  you  only  said  it  that  once.  Unfortu- 
nately, you  have  not  taken  so  much  trouble  with  Phoebe 
as  you  have  with  me,"  she  added,  stooping  to  inhale  the 
fragrance  of  the  flowers  beside  her  plate; "you  must  make 
allowance  for  us  both,  but  especially  for  her." 

"  Phoebe  Owen,  Mr.  Keith,"  said"  Miss  Trent,  turning  to 
Royden,  who  sat  beside  her,  "  is  the  only  one  of  Mr.  Myd- 
delton's  relations  whom  \ou  do  not  know  now." 


28  OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

"  Except " 

It  was  Honor  who  began  the  sentence,  and  stopped 
blushing  vividly,  even  painfully. 

"  Except  ?  "  Mr.  Keith  echoed,  interrogatively. 

"  Honor,  what  pleasure  can  you  find  in  dragging  np  for- 
bidden subjects  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Trent ;  and  Honor  under- ' 
stood  the  hidden  anger  in  the  smooth,  soft  tones. 

Hervey  looked  down  upon  his  soup  plate  and  Theodora 
attempted  to  quench  her  cousin  with  a  glance  and  a  curl  of 
her  lips;  but  Mr.  Keith  waited  for  his  answer. 

"  1  was  going  to  say,"  Honor  remarked,  looking  fully 
into  its  questioning  eyes,  while  the  bright  pink  faded  slowly 
to  its  own  delicate  hue  again,  "  except  my  own  cousiu, 
Gabriel  Myddelton.  I  forgot  that  his  name  was  never 
mentioned  here.  And  I — I  don't  know  why  I  should  have 
Bpoken  of  him  to-night.  At  home  he  is  talked  of  only  with 
horror  and  contempt.  When  I  mention  him,  even  myself, 
it  is  simply  in  utter  bewilderment." 

"  Why  ?  " 

For  a  moment  she  read  his  face  with  a  frank,  gentle  gaze, 
and  then  she  dropped  her  eyes  again,  and  answered  very 
quietly — 

"  I  can  see  that  yon  know  why." 

"  Please  don't  bring  up  that  horrible  and  detestable  story 
again,"  exclaimed  Theodora,  with  a  well-feigned  shudder; 
"  we  are  not  hardened  to  it  by  hearing  it  perpetually,  as 
Honor  says  she  does  at  home." 

"  No,  Mr.  Myddelton's  murder  is  not  quite  a  perpetual 
topic  of  conversation  even  at  The  Larches,  Theodora,"  said 
Honor,  speaking  fearlessly,  though  her  beautiful  eyes  had 
a  great  wist  fulness  in  them. 

"  Mr.  Keith,"  remarked  Miss  Trent,  to  change  effectually 
the  subject  of  conversation,  "what  a  splendid  horse  you 
were  riding  to-day,  and  how  tired  he  was !  From  where 
had  you  ridden  ?  " 

"Fronl  home." 

Theodora  glanced  up  with  a  start.  One  word  or  look  of 
encouragement  from  him,  and  she  could  ask  the  question 
to  which  she  longed  to  hear  the  answer,  "  Where  is  your 
home  ?  "  But  there  came  no  word  or  smile  of  encourage- 
ment, however  slight,  and  she  was  fain  to  content  herself 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  29 

frith  having  achieved  her  primary  object,  and  tnrned  her 
guest's  attention  from  a  name  which  she  would  have  given 
much  to  be  able  to  expunge  from  the  family  tree. 

Yet,  had  Theodora  quite  succeeded,  after  all  ?  She  had 
shown  her  hatred  of  the  subject  ;  Mrs.  Trent  had  skilfully 
withdrawn  from  it ;  Hervey  had  languidly  ignored  it  ; 
Honor  Craven  had  blushed  with  a  keen  sense  of  pain  or 
shame  at  mentioning  it  ;  yet  no  sooner  had  the  servants 
left  the  room  than  this  dreaded  topic  was  uppermost  once 
more,  and  even  being  handled  by  each  one  of  the  little 
group  with  an  apparent  indifference.  Was  it  because 
Gabriel  Myddelton  was  now  spoken  of  only  as  old  Myddel- 
ton's  nephew,  and  not  as  a  friend  or  relation  of  any  one 
present  ?  Or  was  it  because  there  was  one  strong  will 
present,  which,  without  evidence  of  its  power,  could  lead 
where  it  chose,  and  chose  thus  ? 

"  If  I  am  really  to  go  with  yon  to  Abbotsmoor,"  Hoyden 
said,  "  I  must  first  hear  the  entire  story  of  old  Myddelton's 
murder,  or  what  interest  will  there  be  for  me  in  the  place  ? 
Miss  Trent,  will  you  tell  it  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  must,  if  you  ask  me,"  she  answered 
smiling  ;  "  but  it  is  a  very  horrible  story  to  tell,  and  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  shall  be  able  to  get  through  it.  Honor,  you 
look  as  if  you  were  prepared  to  interrupt  me  in  every 
sentence.  Eat  your  grapes,  please.  Must  I  really  tell  it 
all,  Mr.  Keith  ?  "  and  again  she  looked  up,  smilingly,  into 
the  handsome  dark  face. 

"  If  you  will — unless  your  cousin  will  help  you." 

He  did  not  mention  which  cousin,  but  Honor  very  sud- 
denly began  to  attend  to  her  grapes. 


CHAPTER  III. 

He  alone  whose  hand  is  bounding 

Human  power  and  human  will, 
Looking  through  each  soul's  surrounding, 

Knows  its  good  or  ill. 

"  I  KNOW,  Mr.  Keith,  that  you  have  not  been  in  this  part 
of  the  country  very  long,"  Miss  Trent  began;  "but  still 
you  must  have  heard  of  old  Mr.  Myddelton.  You  must 


80  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

have  heard  how  he  saved  and  accumulated  his  wealth  until 
the  very  mention  of  old  Myddelton's  money  became  a 
proverb  conveying  an  idea  of  unlimited  riches." 

"  Our  uncle's  existence  was  one  long  course  of  amassing 
and  hoarding,"  remarked  Honor,  speaking  almost  absently, 
while  her  clear,  listening  gaze  was  fixed  upon  Theodora's 
face,  "  and  I  think  the  people  about  Abbotsmoor  are  quite 
right  when  they  whisper  that  wealth — acquired  and  used 
go — must  bring  the  very  reverse  of  a  blessing  to  its  pos- 
sessor." 

"  Its  probable  possessors  do  not  happen  to  think  so,"  put 
in  Captain  Trent,  lightly. 

"They  know,  of  course,"  added  Royden  Keith,  as  he 
raised  his  wine-glass  slowly  to  his  lips,  "  that  it  depends 
upon  themselves,  and  upon  their  use  of  the  wealth." 

"  You  really  want  to  hear  the  story  of  Mr.  Myddelton's 
murder,  do  you,  Mr.  Keith  ?  "  inquired  Miss  Trent,  as  she 
deliberately  peeled  the  peach  which  she  could  not  stop  to 
taste  ;  leaning  forward  a  little,  so  that  when  she  turned  to 
Royden  she  could  see  the  expression  of  his  listening  face. 
"  I  wish  you  had  seen  Abbotsmoor  before  I  told  you.  We 
shall  be  there  on  Thursday,  and  I  will  show  you  the  window 
through  which  the  murderer  forced  his  way." 

"  I  have  seen  Abbotsmoor  ;  I  know  the  window,"  re- 
marked Royden,  calmly. 

Miss  Trent  looked  round,  surprised. 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  know,"  she  said,  vexed  it  would  seeni 
"  Then  Lady  Somerson,  I  suppose,  anticipated  our  pic-nic  ? 
That  was  very  unkind  of  her,  because  I  told  her  of  it  two 
weeks  ago." 

"  No,  I  went  alone,"  said  Royden,  in  his  cool  grave  tones 
"  One  evening,  as  I  passed  the  lodge,  I  was  tempted  in  to 
see  the  gloomy  old  place." 

"You  will  not  think  it  a  gloomy  place  on  Thursday," 
observed  Theodora,  with  her  most  charming  smile.  "  But 
I  must  get  on  with  my  story,  or  you  and  Hervey  and 
:namma  will  be  bored  to  death." 

For  an  instant  Royden  glanced  across  at  Honor,  as 
if  wondering  why  she  should  not  be  bored  too.  The 
girl's  look  of  eager,  yet  sorrowful  interest  was  answer 
enough. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  SI 

"I  told  yon,  didn't  I,  that  old  Myddelton's  brother  had 
one  only  son — Gabriel  ?  He  was  educated  for  no  profession, 
because,  of  course,  he  was  known  to  be  his  uncle's  heir 
After  his  parents  died — they  died  when  he  was  quite  a 
child — he  lived  entirely  at  Abbotsmoor.  His  uncle  did  not 
send  him  to  college  ;  and  he  wasn't  very  well  educated,  was 
he,  mamma  ?  " 

"  As  I  remember  him,"  remarked  Mrs.  Trent,  indifferently, 
"  he  was  a  quiet,  gentlemanly  young  man,  amiable,  and 
easily  led,  but  with  a  pernicious  habit  of  arguing  certain 
matters  with  his  uncle.  At  that  time  I  never  imagined 
what  awful  passions  lay  beneath  this  quiet  demeanour  ; 
still  I  always,  even  then,  considered  him  inexcusably  un- 
grateful for  what  was  done  for  him,  of  a  moody  nature,  and 
sadly  deficient  in  refinement  of  taste.  He  could  not  bear 
the  restraint  of  a  regular  life  at  Abbotsmoor  ;  indeed  he 
made  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  the  order  and.  punctuality  of 
his  uncle's  house  were  irksome  to  him." 

"  But  order  and  punctuality  were  not  all,  Mrs.  Trent," 
put  in  Honor,  speaking  with  quiet  earnestness.  "  I  have 
often  heard  that  life  at  Abbotsmoor  was  utterly  sordid  and 
utterly  solitary." 

"  And  Gabriel  Myddelton,"  remarked  Hoyden,  refilling 
Theodora's  glass  with  great  leisureliness,  without  one 
glance  into  Honor's  face,  "  was  perhaps  by  nature  neither 
utterly  sordid  nor  utterly  solitary." 

"  H»  proved  himself  both  to  no  mean  extent,"  returned 
Captain  Trent. 

"He  proved  himself,"  added  Theodora,  with  a  slo\» 
elevation  of  her  eyebrows,  a  hundred  thousand  times  worse 
than  that ;  and  it  is  no  wonder — is  it,  Mr.  Keith  ? — that  we 
are  all  ashamed  of  even  belonging  to  the  family  of  Gabriel 
Myddelton." 

"  Miss  Craven,  I  believe,"  said  Royden,  "  is  the  only  one 
at  all  allied  to  him.  How  does  she  bear  the  heavy  yoke  of 
such  a  connection  ?  " 

As  he  gazed  into  Honor's  face,  he  saw  her  cheeks  burn  ; 
W  knowing  the  colour  must  be  born  either  of  a  great  pain 
or  a  great  shame,  he  turned  the  question  aside. 

•'  Now,  Miss  Trent,  what  a  long  time  we  hover  on  the 
verge  of  that  murder  !  " 


32  OLD  MYDDELTOtf'3    MONET. 

"  Honor,  do  not  interrupt  roe  again,"  said  Theodora,  once 
more  taking  up  the  thread  which  it  pleased  her  to  fancy 
that  Honor  had  broken.  "Well,  Mr.  Keith,  once  Gabriel 
and  old  Mr.  Myddeltcn  had  a  quarrel,  saud  it  ended  in 
Gabriel's  either  being  turne  1  out  of  the  house,  or  voluntarily 
leaving  it.  A  message  was  sent  at  once  to  summon  Mr. 
Myildelton's  lawyer — the  firm  in  Kinbury  was  Carter  and 
lliiughton  in  those  days  :  now  Mr.  Haughfon  (I  told  you  he 
was  one  of  old  Myddelton's  relations  and  Honor's  guardian) 
has  the  whole  business.  Well,  Mr.  Carter  came,  and  Mr. 
Myddelton  made  his  will,  leaving  his  property,  as  I  toll 
you,  to  his  sister,  Lady  Lawrence,  to  be  by  her  bequeathed 
among  his  connections.  The  lawyer  was  at  Abbotsmo<>r 
nearly  all  d;iy,  and  when  he  left  the  house  at  last,  he  met 
Gabriel  returning  to  it.  They  stopped  a  little  time  talking, 
and  Mr.  Carter,  being  a  silly,  chatty  old  gentleman,  told 
Gabriel  of  the  will  he  had  just  left  in  his  client's  secretaire, 
and  which  would  leave  him  penniless  instead  of  a  millionaire  ; 
adding  a  word  of  advice  to  him  to  try  to  regain  his  old 
position  before  it  was  too  late. 

Then  they  separated.  That  night — oh,  this  is  a  dreadful 
story  to  tell !  "  cried  Theodora,  interrupting  herself  with  a 
clasp  of  her  white  hands.  "  I  wish  you  had  not  asked  me, 
Mr.  Keith." 

"Perhaps  some  one  else  will  finish  the  story  for  you,"  he 
suggested. 

But  Theodora  had  no  real  desire  for  another  to  take  her 
place  as  long  as  she  could  win — even  by  this  story  from 
which  she  pretended  to  shrink — a  claim  on  his  undivided 
attention. 

"No,  I  will  go  on,  as  yon  wish  it,"  she  said,  acceding 
gracefully.  "  Next  morning  old  Mr.  Myddelton  was  found 
murdered  in  the  wood  beyond  the  shrubbery ;  the  window 
of  his  room  had  been  forced  open,  the  lock  of  the  secretaire 
wrenched,  and  the  Till  was  gone  ;  and,  more  than  that, 
upon  the  carpet  lay  ttr.  Myddelton's  candlestick  and  the 
velvet  cap  he  always  wore  in  the  house,  and  on  both  there 
were  stains  of  blood." 

"  Judging  by  those  premises,"  remarked  Royden,  "  Mr. 
Myddeltou  bad  been  struck  within  the  room  by  the  thief 
who  had  stolen  the  will ;  he  had  followed  the  thief  across 


OLD   MYl'DELTOX'S  MONEY.  83 

the  lawn  and  through  the  shrubbery  to  the  wood.  Here 
there  must  have  been  another  struggle,  which  ended  in  the 
old  man's  death.  Was  that  the  general  supposition  ?" 

"  It  was  exactly  so,"  returned  Hervey,  "and  proved,  of 
course,  to  have  been  Gabriel  Myddelton's  act." 

"It  was  easy  to  prove  that,"  put  in  Mrs.  Trent,  with 
languid  contempt.  "  Gabriel  was  caught  in  an  attempt  to 
leave  England ;  and,  in  the  bag  he  carried  were  found 
fragments  of  the  missing  will.  Of  course  there  could  not 
be  a  doubt  after  that,  but,  even  if  there  had  been,  it  was 
dispelled  upon  the  trial." 

"  Whose  evidence  in  Court  could  go  beyond  that  forcible 
fact  of  the  destroyed  will  being  found  in  his  possession,  and 
his  being  caught  endeavouring  to  escape  ?  " 

"But,  Mr.  Keith,  there  was  even  further  evidence,  and 
that  doomed  him  at  once,"  replied  Theodora.  "  The  counsel 
for  the  prosecution  brought  forward  a  girl  named  Margaret 
Territ,  who  lived  with  her  father  in  a  cottage  on  the  outer 
border  of  the  wood,  and  she  had  terrible  evidence  to  give, 
though  she  had  with  much  trouble  been  prevailed  upon  to 
give  it.  On  that  evening  of  the  murder,  she  said,  Gabriel 
Myddelton  had  gone  to  their  cottage  and  told  them  of  his 
quarrel  with  his  uncle,  lie  had  told  them  of  old  Mr 
Myddeltou's  having  made  a  will  to  disinherit  him,  and  even 
where  it  was  put.  Her  father  could  prove  this,  the  girl 
added,  for  he  had  been  present,  and  had  waited  to  cheer 
young  Mr.  Myddelton  a  bit  before  he  went  away  to  the  mines, 
where  he  was  on  night-work.  At  night,  when  she  was 
sitting  alone  in  the  cottage,  Gabriel  came  again,  very  quietly 
and  cautiously,  she  said,  his  face  white  and  scared,  as  she 
could  see  even  by  the  firelight,  for  he  would  not  let  her  light 
a  candle.  He  asked  for  water  to  wash  his  hands,  and  when 
ae  had  washed  them  he  opened  the  back-door  of  the  cottage 
and  threw  the  water  on  the  soil ;  then  he  drew  off  his  white 
wristbands,  crushed  them  up  in  his  hand,  and  burnt  them  to 
ashes  in  the  fire  ;  and  then  he  borrowed  from  her  an  old 
coat  of  her  father's.  The  poor  girl  seems  to  have  un- 
questioningly  done  all  the  wicked  fellow  asked  her  r  and  she 
had  even  promised  to  hide  or  destroy  the  coat  he  left  behind 
him.  But  I  suppose  her  father's  sense  of  justice  came  to 
her  aid,  and  prevented  her  fulfilling  her  promise.  The  coat 


84  OLD  MYDDELTOH'S  MONEY. 

was  shown  on  the  trial,  and  there,  on  one  shoulder  and  on 
one  wrist,  were  stains  of  blood  again." 

"  Stronger  evidence  never  was  brought  against  a  prisoner 
Of  course  they  hanged  him?  " 

"  He  was  convicted,  certainly,"  replied  Theodora,  "  but 
he  escaped." 

A  little  silence  fell  upon  the  group,  and  then  again 
Royden's  voice  coolly  and  easily  broke  the  stillness. 

"  How  about  the  will,  Miss  Trent  ?  " 

"  Fortunately,"  explained  Theodora,  with  as  much  empha- 
sis as  her  constitutional  languor  would  permit,  "Mr.  Carter 
nad  a  duplicate  of  the  will,  so  that  it  did  not  signify  about 
that  copy  having  been  destroyed  by  his  client's  nephew." 

"  If  Mr.  Carter  had  told  Gabriel  that,"  exclaimed  Honor, 
involuntarily,  "  nothing  need  have  happened." 

"  Or  rather,"  added  liervey,  "  the  old  lawyer  might  have 
been  murdered  too." 

"  Exactly,"  assented  Hoyden,  with  a  nod  of  prompt 
acquiescence.  "  How  did  Myddelton  manage  the  escape 
from  gaol  ?  " 

"Oh,  pray  do  not  begin  another  long  story  about  that 
wicked  young  man,  Theodora,"  cried  Mrs.  Trent,  smiling 
graciously  upon  her  guest.  "  You  are  wearying  Mr. 
Keith.  What  interest  can  he  tak«  in  such  an  amount  of 
crime  and  craft  ?  " 

"It  does  interest  me,  Mrs.  Trent,"  her  guest  answered, 
with  grave  courtesy  ;  "  I — have  been  a  barrister,  and  such 
things  still  interest  me  keenly." 

"  Have  been  a  barrister  !  "  echoed  Theodora,  wonderingly, 
and  not  too  politely.  "  How  strange  that  seems  !  J  only 
mean,"  she  added  in  graceful  confusion,  "  that  you  seem  so 
young  to  talk  of  what  you  fiave  been — in  a  profession,  too, 
where  a  man  must  bring  the  experience  of  years  to  follow  it 
successfully  ;  besides " 

But  Theodora  stopped  there  ;  she  could  not  add  aloud  the 
wonder  how  he  had  travelled  so  muoh,  and  was  so  rich  and 
idle  now,  if  his  profession  had  only  been  that  of  a  barrister. 

"If  you  have  been  a  barrister,  Mr.  Keith,"  said  llervey, 
gazing  curiously  at  him,  "  I  wonder  you  are  not  au  fait  in 
this  story  of  young  Myddelton's  trial  and  escape." 

"  I  have  heard  of  it,  V™*-.  no  one  ever  gave  "lie  the 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY,  35 

particulars  exactly  as  yon  have  done.  I  did  not  read  a  word 

of  it  in  the  papers  at  the  time." 

"  That  was  odd." 

"  Very  odd,"  assented  Royden,  lazily  ;  "  besides  which, 
another  thing  strikes  me  as  odd.  You  said  that  Gabriel 
Myddelton  was  weak  and  cowardly  ;  if  so,  how  did  lie 
manage  his  escape  after  conviction  ?  Such  a  thing  would, 
I  should  imagine,  require  skill  and  courage." 

"  I  think,"  said  Theodora,  hastily  putting  in  a  reply, 
"that  when  you  hear  the  particulars  of  his  escape  you  wi'l 
gee  that  it  was  chiefly  managed  for  him — he  had  but  little 
need  of  skill  and  courage  himself." 

"  But  who  would  care  to  run  such  risks  for  a  condemned 
criminal  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  will  see  when  I  tell  you  the  story,"  replied 
Miss  Trent ;  "but  you  must  wait  for  that  until  we  are  at 
Abbotsmoor  on  Thursday.  Mamma  will  not  object  then  ; 
will  you,  mamma  dear  ?  " 

"  Even  I  have  never  heard  the  whole  story  of  Gabriel's 
escape,"  said  Honor,  breaking  her  attentive  silence  ;  "  but 
of  course  it  was  Margaret  Territ,  or  her  father,  who  planned 
it  and  helped  him." 

"  You  were  but  a  little  child  when  the  murder  was  com 
mitted,"  observed  Royden;  "you  do  not,  I  suppose,  re- 
member Gabriel  Myddelton  ?" 

"  No,  it  was  ten  years  ago,  and  I  was  only  eight ;  but 
I've  seen  his  picture  at  Abbotsmoor." 

"  A  weak  face,  had  he  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  say.  It  is  very  boyish,  I  think,  and 
delicate." 

"  It  does  not  remind  you  of  the  Chamber  of  Horrors  at 
Madame  Tussaud's  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  answered.  Then  her  pretty  langh  broke 
off  suddenly,  and  her  eyes  darkened  with  an  anxious  wist- 
fulness.  "  Mr.  Keith,  do  you  feel  sure  that  my  cousin 
Gabriel  wag  guilty  of  that  theft  and  murder  ?  " 

She  could  not  help  her  eyes  betraying  her  longing  that 
lie  should  contradict  this  fact — which  no  one  had  ever  yec 
doubted  ;  nor  could  he  help  that  one  bound  which  his  heart 
gave  when  he  saw  how  she  waited  for  his  answer. 

"  There  seems  no  room  for  doubt,"  he  said.     "  The  flight 


86  OLD   MYDDELTOJTS  MONEY 

and  escajv  are  both  terrible  stumbling-blocks  to  any  belief 
in  Gabriel  Myddelton's  innocence." 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  she  interrupted  eagerly,  though  her  tone  was 
very  low.  "  You  forget,  Mr.  Keith,  that  the  escape  was 
after  conviction.  It  was  too  late  fur  any  innocence  to  save 
him  then,  even  if " 

"  Even  if  he  had  been  innocent — yes,"  returned  Eoyden  ; 
"  but  I  see  no  loophole  for  escape  from  such  a  verdict  as  the 
jury  brought." 

"  And  you  think  he  was  guilty  ?  " 

There  gathered  a  striinge,  warm  light  in  Hoyden's  eyes  as 
he  answered  her  with  quiet  earnestness — 

"  You  must  let  me  answer  this  question  on  some  future 
day.  I  have  not  even  heard  the  whole  history  yet." 

"You  shall  hear  it  at  Abbotsmoor  on  Thursday,"  put  in 
Theodora,  graciously,  "  and  then  you  will  see — as  I  told  you 
— all  old  Middelton's  connections  together — of  course  except- 
ing Gabriel." 

"  Of  course  excepting  Gabriel,"  assented  Hoyden.  "  And 
about  the  property  ?  It,  I  suppose,  went  as  it  was  willed  - 
and  Lady  Lawrence  holds  the  power  of  dividing  it  amon^ 
you,  or  bequeathing  it  to  one  alone  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  rests  with  her  entirely  ;  and  at  Christmas  she  is 
coming  over  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  all  the  family, 
preparatory  to  making  her  will.  We  receive  these  messages 
through  her  solicitors  in  London,  for  she  herself  never  writes 
to  any  of  us." 

"  i'ne  is  a  widow,  I  presume  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  has  been  a  widow  for  many  years,  with  no 
femily  of  her  own." 

"A  good  thing  for  us,"  put  in  Captain  Hervey,  placidly: 
for  you  must  own  there  are  plenty  of  us  to  choose  from." 

"  A.nd  both  her  possible  heirs,"  added  Theodora,  with  a 
litild  quiet  malice,  "  are  named  after  her  husband  or  hersc-lf. 
Old  Sir  Hervey  Lawrence  belonged  to  this  neighbourhood, 
you  st^;  and  so  we  have  Hervey  Myddelton  Trent  here, 
and  Lawrence  Myddelton  Haughton  at  The  Larches." 

"  And  all  we  girls  have  Myddelton  for  a  second  name,"  nut 
in  Honor,  laughing. 

"  Strange  of  Lady  Lawrence  to  wait  so  long  before  she 
cornea  to  "dsit  her  family  or  her  native  place." 


OLD   MYDDELTON  S   MONEY. 

"  She  never  liked  Abbotsmoor,"  Mrs.  Trent  replied.  "  I 
believe  she  never  liked  England  ;  and  I'm  sure  she  did  not 
care  for  her  brother." 

"  Suppose  she  never  comes,  but  leaves  her  money  to  Indian 
eharities  ? "  said  Honor. 

"  She  dare  not,"  retorted  Theodora,  quickly.  "  She  ia 
^ound  to  leave  it  as  Mr.  Myddelton  arranged,  either  to.  one 
of  us,  or  to  some  of  us,  or  to  all  of  us." 

"  Who  is  the  most  likely  to  inherit  it  ? "  questioned 
Royden,  coolly. 

"  I  should  certainly  never  dream  of  the  other  side  the 
house " 

"  Do  not  hesitate  to  say  it,  Hervey,"  observed  Honor,  in 
his  pause.  "  You  mean  that  she  will  never  acknowledge 
the  Cravens.  I  don't  think  she  will,  Mr.  Keith.  Mr. 
Myddelton  was  very  angry  with  his  brother  for  marrving 
my  aunt.  The  Cravens  were  poor,  and  always  had  been 
poor  ;  and — it  is  to  be  surmised — they  always  will  be  poor." 

"You  are  evidently  grieving  for  that." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  with  no  shade  of  grief  in  her  eyes. 
"  I  should  love  to  be  rich — I  think." 

"  Strange  thing,"  mused  Royden,  "  that  the  old  Squire 
should  at  last  shuffle  off  the  responsibility  of  nip  wealth  u;»on 
his  sister.  Has  she  been  using  the  money  since  his  death  ?  " 

"No  ;  it  has  been  accumulating,  luckily  for  us,"  replied 
Hervey  ;  "indeed,  it  was  accumulating  for  years  before  his 
death.  Old  Myddelton's  money  is  more  than  a  million  in 
hard  cash  now,  independent  of  the  landed  property." 

"  Lady  Lawrence  may  very  well  divide  such  wealth  as  that." 

"Yes,  of  course  she  may,  Mr.  Keith,"  assented  his  hostess, 
languidly  ;  "  but  still  I  fancy  she  will  choose  an  heir,  and 
that  will  naturally  be  Hervey." 

"  But  Mr.  Haughton  is  as  nearly  related  to  her,  is  he  not,  ?  " 

"Oh,  she  will  not  think  of  him,"  interposed  Captain 
Trent,  superciliously  ;  "  he  is  a  regular  snob,  settled  down 
into  a  pettifogging  country  lawjer,  and  almost  as  mean  as 
«Vas  old  Myddelton  himself." 

"  Suppose  you  were  to  recollect  the  fact  that  he's  my 
guardian,  Hervey,"  observed  Honor,  quietly. 

"  That  would  make  no  difference,"  returned  Captain  Trentj 
laughing.  "  You  know  very  well  how  little  you  think  of  him.' 

D 


od  OLD   MYDDELTON  S  MONET. 

A  vivid,  painful  blush  rose  to  the  girl's  cheeks,  and  even 
Roy  den  could  see  that  she  had  not  the  power  of  contradict- 
ing that  last  statement. 

*'  Perhaps,"  he  said,  "  Lady  Lawrence  may  choose  aii 
heiress  in  preference  to  an  heir.  She  might  very  naturally 
wish  for  a  young  relation  to  live  with  her,  as  she  has  no 
daughters  of  her  own." 

"  So  I  often  say,"  spoke  Mrs.  Trent,  blandly  ;  "and  it 
pleases  me  to  think  how  admirably  my  daughter  is  fitted  for 
the  post." 

"  More  than  the  others  ?  " 

Theodora  turned  to  Mr.  Keith  in  blank  astonishment 
when  he  uttered  that  cool  question  ;  but  the  sight  of  his 
handsome,  careless  face  disarmed  her  quick  suspicion. 

•'  As  for  the  others,"  she  said,  with  a  deprecatory  gesture 
of  her  hands,  "  Jane  Haughton  would  grind  and  save  like 
an  exaggerated  female  copy  of  old  Myddelton  himself,  and 
Phoebe  would  spend  all  the  money  on  her  person." 

"  It  is  a  small  person  to  spend  a  million  on,"  observed 
Honor,  with  a  quick  flash  in  her  eyes,  half  of  anger,  half  of 
amusement. 

'•And" questioned  Hoyden,  his  own  eyes  full  of 

laughter. 

"  The  only  other  niece  is  Honor,"  said  Theodora,  hurrying 
over  the  words,  Mand  I'm  sure  she  would  not  have  an  idea 
what  to  do  with  the  money  ;  should  you,  Honor  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  would  live  all  alone  in  a  splendid  house,  where 
no  one  should  order  me  about." 

"  What  a  childish  idea  !  "  said  Theodora,  with  a  curl  of 
her  lip. 

"  And  I  would  do  good  to  others,  for  I  could  afford  to  pay 
for  a  master  in  deportment,  and  so  relieve  Hervey  from  hia 
most  onerous  duty." 

"You  are  right.  Such  wealth  should  have  some  such 
noble  end  in  view,"  said  Hoyden,  with  a  laugh  of  quiet  irony. 
"  Gold  is,  as  we  all  know,  '  Heaven's  physic,  Life's  restora- 
tive,' but  we  also  know  that  there  are  other  virtues  it  can 
possess." 

"  There  is  one  evil  it  cannot  cure,"  observed  Honor,  puz- 
zling a  little  over  his  tone,  but  answering  it  merrily,  "and 
that  is  our  family  failing — avarice.  I  often  think  how 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  HONEY.  89 

readily  Lady  Lawrence  will  recognise  us  all  afe  Myddeltons, 
when  she  sees  us  crowding  eagerly  about  her,  and  paying 
court  to  the  riches  which  she  holds  in  bond  for  some  of  us." 

"  '  All  the  women  of  Blois  are  freckled  and  ill-tempered,'  " 
quoted  Royden,  rising  as  Mrs.  Trent  rose. 

Honor  paused  where  she  stood,  and  forgot  every  practical 
answer  to  Captain  llervey's  catechism  on  the  exigencies  of 
society. 

"  How  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Keith  ?  " 

He  smiled  into  the  ianocent,  questioning  eyes,  and 
answered  her,  while  Mrs.  Trent  and  Theodora  swept 
ominously  past. 

"A  lazy  traveller  in  Blois,  who  found  his  landlady 
freckled  and  ill-tempered,  wrote  his  experience  so — '  All  the 
women  of  Blois  are  freckled  and  ill-tempered.'  " 

"  I  hope,  Honor,"  remarked  Mrs.  Trent,  as  the  girl 
entered  the  drawing-room,  "  that  you  may  some  day  grow  to 
understand  what  is  required  of  you  when  you  are  the  least  im- 
portant person  in  company.  I  despair  of  ever  teaching  you." 

"Suppose  I  learn  that  thoroughly,  and  then  tind  I  am  not 
always  the  least  important  person  in  company,"  said  Honor, 
with  a  mischievous  glance  from  under  her  lashes.  "I  shall 
have  all  to  unlearn,  and  a  fresh  lesson  to  begin.  Oh,  dear  me  ! 
how  pleasant  it  would  be  if  one  need  only  acton  instinct  !  " 

"If  1  were  a  girl  like  you,  Honor,"  put  in  Theodora, 
with  an  exaggerated  expression  of  despair,  and  perhaps  not 
very  strict  adherence  to  truth,  "  I  should  feel  very  grateful 
to  those  who  tried  to  train  me." 

"  Under  those  circumstances  it  might  almost  be  a  good 
thing  if  you  were  me,"  was  Honor's  dry  and  ungrammatical 
rejoinder,  as  she  took  as  comfortable  a  seat  as  Mrs.  Trent 
and  Theodora  allowed  her,  and  settled  herself  to  gain  as 
much  enjoyment  as  possible  from  the  inevitable  dissertation 
on  dress. 

"  It  would  be  rude  to  take  a  book  and  entertain  myself 
with  other  people's  thoughts,"  she  mused,  when  at  last  Mrs. 
Trent  succumbed  to  her  after-dinner  somnolence,  and 
Theodora  posed  herself  in  an  attitude  of  graceful  indolence, 
"  but  I  am  apparently  at  liberty  to  indulge  my  own — such 
as  they  are." 

There  was  a  circular  mirror  on  the  wall  opposite  her,  and 


40  OLD  MYDDELTON  8  MONET. 

between  the  candles  burning  on  each  Bide  of  it  she  conld 
gee  the  fireside  group  ;  the  elder  lady  sleeping  in  her  chair, 
comfortable  and  handsome,  and  the  younger  one  almost  as 
motionless,  with  one  ringed  hand  supporting  the  fair,  regular 
face,  round  which  the  mirror  showed  such  gorgeous  setting 
of  silk  and  gold. 

In  each  of  us  lurks  some  vein  of  true  genius.  Though 
sometimes  so  slight  that,  in  the  gloom  of  uuappreciation,  or 
the  glory  of  a  greater  light,  it  is  not  seen,  the  golden  thread 
is  pretty  sure  to  be  there. 

Theodora  Trent  possessed  no  brilliant  talent  or  versatile 
powers.  She  had  no  depth,  or  force,  or  strength  of  character, 
but  she  had  that  one  slender  filament  in  her  nature,  and  knew 
its  power.  She  understood  exactly  how  far  the  splendour  of 
dress  was  needed  to  give  effect  to  hershallow,  toneless  beauty; 
and  in  this  matter,  which  was  her  one  deep  study,  she  was 
thoroughly  and,  indeed,  to  a  certain  extent,  dangerously 
skilled.  -At  every  ball  she  attended  (and  Mi>s  Trent 
favoured  all  shecould,  both  in  town  and  county)  she  was  looked 
upon  as  a  formidable  rival  by  many  a  prettier  and  brighter  and 
better  girl ;  and  not  a  few  of  the  young  men  who  stood  up 
with  her  to  dance  felt  proudly  conscious  of  having  won  the 
most  admired  partner  in  the  room.  What  wonder  ?  The 
face  is,  after  all,  but  a  trifling  part  of  the  whole  ;  and  who 
would  miss  variety  atid  brightness  there,  when  they  found  it 
in  the  manifold  adornments  which  Theodora  carried  so  well  f 

Honor's  eyes  lingered  long  on  these  two  figures,  hard  I/ 
glancing  for  a  moment  at  her  own,  so  still  and  white. 

"Suppose,"  she  mused  idly  to  herself,  "that  were  the 
mirror  of  Lao,  and  reflected  the  mind  as  well  as  the  person. 
What  should  I  see  ?  Not  much,"  she  added,  with  a  half- 
smile,  still  unconsciously  ignoring  her  own  image  ;  "  there  is 
not  much  in  either  Mrs.  Trent  or  Theodora  which  it  would 
need  Lao's  silass  to  reflect." 

As  she  thought  this,  Btill  with  her  eyes  on  the  mirror 
ihe  door  behind  her  was  opened,  and  another  figura 
*as  added  to  the  group  on  which  she  gazed.  Then  an 
involuntary  and  rather  puzzled  feeling  rose  in  her  mind,  that 
this  figure  had  given  a  new  character  to  the  picture. 

"Now,"  she  said  letting  her  fanciful  thoughts  run  on*— 
"  if  it  were  but  the  glass  of  Lao  now  J " 


OLD  MYDDEI.TON'S  MONEY.  41 

Most  probably  Royden  Keith  would  have  objected  to  enter 
the  room  at  all  if  that  circular  mirror  had  been  the  magic 
instrument  she  thought  of,  bat,  being  the  harmless  reflector 
it  was,  he  sat  down  opposite  it  with  the  greatest  ease,  an^ 
was,  to  all  appearance,  totally  unconscious  of  its  very  presence 
on  the  wall. 

Mrs.  Trent,  wide  awake  now,  graciously  called  Honor  over 
to  sit  beside  her  while  she  sipped  her  tea  ;  and  then  en- 
treated her  daughter  to  sing  a  duet  with  Hervey,  and  to 
persuade  Mr.  Keith  to  sing  with  her  too. 

Theodora  did  sing  with  her  cousin,  once  or  twice,  and 
then  once  or  twice  alone  ;  then  once  or  twice  with  Mr.  Keith, 
but  Honor  had  not  been  asked,  when,  feeling  the  neglect 
acutely,  she  rose  and  said  that  she  must  go  home. 

•'Jane  told  me  to  be  early,"  she  explained,  standing 
before  Mrs.  Trent,  with  a  fading  flush  upon  her  cheeks. 
And  just  then  the  mirror  gave  back  a  lovely  picture,  while 
Royden  Keith  stood  waiting  for  his  hand-shake.  There  was 
no  intentness  in  his  gaze,  yet  for  all  his  life  this  picture  lived 
unblemished  in  his  memory. 

"This  is  a  new  idea,  Honor,"  observed  Captain  Trent, 
coming  forward  with  a  shade  of  annoyance  on  his  face/. 
"  Why  should  Jane's  wishes  be  paramount  ?  Are  they  not 
alone  at  The  Larches  to-night  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Whom  are  you  afraid  of  finding  at  home  ? "  inquired 
Theodora,  wondering  why  Mr.  Keith  smiled,  when  of  course 
he  could  not  understand  anything  about  Honor's  home. 

"  I  know,"  drawled  Hervey,  with  his  lazy  smile  ;  "  it's 
little  Slimp." 

"  Yes,"  echoed  Honor,  demurely  ;  "  it's  little  Slimp." 

"  Slimp — Slimp  ?  I  have  surely  heard  that  name  before," 
put  in  Roydeu,  with  a  great  amusement  in  his  eyes.  "  I 
almost  think  I  have  had  the  honour  of  seeing  the  gentleman 
to  whom  the  name  belongs  ;  a  man  of  huge  proportions  and 
frank  expression  of  countenance  ;  a  man  without  fear,  oi 
guile,  or Wrty  are  you  laughing,  Miss  Craven  ?  " 

"  If  you  had  tried  to  describe  the  exact  opposite  of  the 
Mr.  Slimp  I  know,"  said  Honor,  "  you  could  not  have  suc- 
ceeded better." 

"  Indeed  !  Then  please  describe  the  Mr.  Slimp  YOU  know." 


42  OLD  MYDDELTON  S  MONET. 

"  Not  I,  Mr.  Keith,"  laughed  the  girl,  "  except  to  tell  you 
that,  like  Slender,  '  he  hath  but  a  little  wee  face,  with  a  little 
yellow  beard — a  Cain-coloured  beard.'  " 

4<  And  you  do  not  like  him  ?  " 

"Like  him!"  The  shy,  proud  colour  was  rising  again 
under  Royden's  steadfast  g;ize.  "Not  one  atom  ! "  she  said, 
as  she  gave  her  hand  to  Mrs.  Trent.  And  in  that  tone  ot 
prompt  contempt  she  dropped  the  subject. 

"  If  you  are  walking  home,  you  will,  I  hope,  allow  me  to 
•walk  with  you,  Miss  Craven." 

Theodora  looked  up  in  surprise.  One  of  the  men-servants 
had  always  been  sent  to  attend  Honor  back  to  The  Larches 
after  an  evening  at  Deergrove.  Surely  that  was  sufficient, 
without  Mr.  Keith  offering  his  escort.  "  That  is  unneces- 
sary," interposed  Captain  Hervey,  stopping  as  he  loitered 
towards  the  door;  "  I  am  goin<r  with  Miss  Craven." 

"  And  you,  Mr.  Keith,"  said  Theodora,  advancing  with 
her  gracious  smile,  "  must  stay  and  play  that  game  of  chesa 
which  I  have  set  my  heart  upon.  See  how  early  it  is,  and  I 

am  ready.     Good  night  again,  Honor." 

******* 

"  Mamma,"  said  Theodora,  an  hour  later,  when  the 
mother  and  daughter  were  left  alone  together,  "  you  must 
ask  Mr.  Keith  to  stay  with  us  for  a  week  or  two;  he  is  only 
at  the  hotel,  you  know,  and  you  might  quite  properly  do  it 
while  Hervey  is  here." 

Mrs.  Trent's  breath  came  for  a  minute  in  hurried  gaspa 

"  Theo,"  she  said,  "  I  have  been  surprised  at  you  all  th| 
evening  ;  I  am  doubly  surprised  now.  Pray  do  not  fc 
Hervey  see  this  sudden  and  ridiculous  infatuation." 

"  Hervey  will  never  see  anything  in  me  which  is  ridicul- 
ous," was  Theo's  complacent  rejoinder;  "  but,  mamma,  yon 
must  own  how  immeasurably  superior  Mr.  Keith  is  to  the 
men  one  generally  meets." 

"  And  after  all,  what  do  we  know  of  him  ?  "  inquired  the 
elder  lady,  pettishly. 

"  This,"  returned  the  younger  one,  as  if  the  subject  were 
a  pleasant  one  to  her,  and  she  were  quite  willing  to  linger 
over  it.  "  We  know  that  he  is  a  thorough  and  perfect  gen- 
tleman,  to  whom  society  has  evidently  thrown  open  her 
doora.  We  know  that  he  has  travelled  a  great  deal,  and 


OLD   MYDDELTON  S   MONET.  43 

Been  a  great  deal,  and  is  very  clever.  We  know  how  different 
he  looked  from  all  the  gentlemen  at  the  Castle  the  other 
night,  and  how  jealous  the  girls  were  about  him,  and  we  see 
how  womanish  he  makes  Hervey  look.  And  we  know," 
concluded  Theodora,  moving  her  head  slowly  before  th» 
glass  to  catch  the  light  upon  the  jewelled  butterfly  in  her 
hair,  "  that  he  is  very  rich." 

"  Theo,  my  dear,"  urged  Mrs.  Trent,  cautiously — for,  like 
all  weak  and  indulgent  mothers,  she  dreaded  her  daughter's 
displeasure  being  turned  directly  against  herself — "  of  course 
you  can  enjoy  Mr.  Keith's  society  while  he  stays  in  this 
neighbourhood,  but  you  will  be  most  unwise  if  you  excite 
Hervey's  jealousy.  Mr.  Keith  may  be  a  rich  man — I  do  not 
doubt  it — but  what  would  his  wealth  be  compared  with  that 
which  Hervey  is-likely  to  inherit  ?  Remember,  Theo,  that 
my  heart  is  set  upon  your  making  a  good  match.  It  is," 
concluded  Mrs.  Trent,  pathetically,  "  the  only  aim  for  which 
I  care  to  live." 

"  All  right,  mamma,"  returned  Theodora,  brusquely  ;  "  1 
will  take  care  that  your  aim  is  attained.  I  will  not 
quarrel  with  Hervey,  but  I  will  do  just  as  I  like  at  present." 
******* 

Eoyden  Keith  had,  like  his  fellow-guest,  walked  to  Deer- 
grove  that  evening,  and  now  was  walking  back  to  Kinbury. 
It  was  a  pleasant  autumn  night,  and  he  went  leisurely  and 
thoughtfully  along  the  highway,  until  he  entered  the  town 
close  to  the  hotel  where  he  was  staying.  Then  he  quickened 
his  steps,  for  in  front  of  the  lighted  entrance  there  stood  a 
tax-cart  and  a  foaming  little  thoroughbred  which  he  knew. 
A  servant-man  in  a  livery  of  white  and  green — a  livery  we 
have  seen  before  at  the  roadside  tavern  near  Abboibmoor — 
touched  his  hat  from  the  driver's  seat  as  Royden  passed 
into  the  vestibule  of  the  hotel,  where  another  servant,  in  the 
Bame  livery,  came  forward  to  meet  him. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Royden,  as  he  pleasantly  returned 
the  man's  respectful  greeting. 

"  A  letter,  sir." 

"  Any  orders  to  yourselves  ?  "  inquired  Royden,  as  he 
took  the  letter. 

"  No  orders,  sir,  except  what  you  should  give  us." 

"  Then  go  back  at  once.     Say  1  am  corning  to-morrow. 


44  OLD  MYDDELTONS  MONEY. 

Take  something  at  the  bar,  and  send  Morris  to  do  the  same  \ 
then  drive  back  at  once.  Good  ni^'ht." 

Seated  in  his  own  room,  with  the  lamp  lighted  and  the 
shutters  closed,  Royden  read  the  letter.  The  writing  was 
clear  and  the  lines  uncrossed,  but  yet  it  took  him  a  long 
time  to  read  ;  for  the  sheets  of  paper  were  lar<_re  and  trans- 
parent, as  if  the  letter  had  come  from,  or  was  destined  for, 
some  distant  country. 

When  he  had  finished,  and  replaced  the  two  thin  sheets 
within  their  cover,  he  rose  and  rang  his  bell 

"  I  want,#  he  said  when  the  door  was  opened  by  a  grave, 
middle-aged  man  in  black,  "to  tpeak  to  Edwards.  Send 
him  up  here,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Are  the  other  men  gone  ?  " 

"  Some  time  ago,  sir." 

The  groom,  whom  his  master  had  called  Edwards,  donned 
his  livery  hastily  when  his  master's  valet  summoned  him. 

"  I  know  what  it  is,"  he  muttered  :  "  a  gallop  all  the  way 
to  the  Towers  and  back.  That's  just  like  him." 

"  If  you  mean  he'd  take  the  gallop  himself  and  think 
nothing  of  it,  you're  about  right,"  returned  the  valet, 
curtly  ;  "  but  unless  that  is  what  you  mean,  you  are  a  good 
way  off  being  right ;  for  he  isn't  one  to  send  his  servants 
galloping  about  when  they  ought  to  be  in  bed." 

"  .No,  he  isn't  generally,"  acquiesced  the  groom,  a  little 
less  sulkily  ;  "but  it  does  make  one  cross  to  have  to  dress 
again.  Do  I  look  all  right  now,  Mr.  Pierce  ?  " 

The  "gentleman's  gentleman"  smiled  with  generous 
condescension.  "  You  are  a  vain,  churlish  fellow,"  it  said, 
as  plain  as  smile  could  speak  ;  "  but  whatelsecan  one  expect 
in  a  groom — and  so  young  a  one  ? " 

lie  smiled  still  more  when  the  groom  returned  to  him  in 
ten  minutes'  time,  brisk,  alert,  and  good-humoured,  as  he 
had  been  in  his  master's  presence. 

"  If  it's  '  just  like  him  '  for  the  master  to  drive  his  men 
about  inconsiderately  and  inconsistently,"  thevalet  remarked, 
aloud,  "I  wonder  why  they  should  look  as  if  they  felt  all 
the  pleasanter  for  their  interviews  with  him.  He  doesn't 
quite  treat  you  as  if  you  were  cattle — eh,  Edwards  ?  " 

"He's  going  off  at  dawn,"  explained  the  groom,  ignoring 


OLD  MYDDELTON  S  MONET.  45 

that  question  ;  "  I'm  to  have  Princess  saddled  by  the  first 
glimpse  of  daylight.  He's  writing  now,  and  told  me  to  tell 
you  not  to  stay  up.  He'll  be  back  to-morrow  afternoon, 
he  says.  Where  d'you  think  he's  going,  Mr.  Pierce  ?  " 

"  I  know,"  said  Pierce,  quietly,  as  he  turned  away,  "  he's 
going  home." 

"  Home  !  "  echoed  the  younger  man,  when  he  was  left  to 
himself.  "  I  don't  know  much,  p'raps ;  but  I  do  know 
what  that  ineaus." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

I  do  not  love  thee,  Doctor  Fell— 
The  reason  why  I  cannot  tell ; 
But  this  alone  1  know  full  well, 
I  do  not  love  thee.  Doctor  Fell. 

Tom  Brown. 

IT  was  no  very  new  thing  for  Captain  Trent  to  be  walking 
with  Honor  Craven  along  the  road  which  lay  between 
Deergrove  and  The  Larches,  but  something  seemed  to  strike 
him  as  new  in  the  performance  to-night. 

"  You  are  not  talking  at  all,"  Honor,"  he  said  at  last, 
when  the  reason  of  the  novelty  dawned  upon  him.  "  What 
a  very  unusual  thing  !  It  does  not  show  nicely-regulated 
manners  to  talk  a  good  deal  at  one  time,  and  say  nothing 
at  all  at  another.'' 

"  Hervey,"  said  the  girl,  pausing  suddenly  in  her  walk. 
and  turning  her  eyes  upon  him  so  that  he  could  see  their 
laughter  in  the  ploora,  "don't  you  lecture  me  when  nobody 
is  present.  When  Mrs.  Trent  and  Theodora  are  by,  it 
affords  them  great  pleasure  to  hear  you,  so  I  don't  mind  ; 
but  when  we  have  no  audience  we  will  have  no  performance, 
please.  On  those  occasions — beinir,  as  they  are,  very  few 
and  very  far  between — we  will  imagine  ourselves  on  an 
equality.  Now  we  will  talk  as  much  as  you  like,  for  I 
shall  soon  be  at  home.  Hervey,  who  is  Mr.  Keith  ? " 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  know  ?  "  inquired  Captain  Trent, 
epeaking  sharply,  but  whether  in  consequence  of  Honor's 
introductory  speech  or  of  that  last  question  was  not  clear. 

"  It  does  not  signify  ;  I  can  find  out  from  Lawrence." 


46  OLD  MYDDELTGN  8  MONET. 

"  He  is  as  likely  to  be  an  adventurer  as  not,"  suggested 
Hervey,  spitefully;  "looking  after  Theodora  for  her  fortune, 
and  for  her  expectation  of  a  share  of  old  Myddelton's  money." 

"  I  should  have  thought  you  old  enough  to  know  a  tru* 
gentleman  when  you  met  him,"  observed  Honor,  with  prox 
voking  gravity.  "  And  if  he  really  is  come  to  woo  Theodora, 
what  shall  you  do  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked,  his  tone  a  trifle  harsh,  either  in  anger 
or  self-consciousness. 

"  Because  you  are  to  marry  her,  you  know." 

"Do  not  say  'you  know,'  Honor  ;  it  is  unnecessary  and 
inelegant,  and  I  do  not  know,  though  you  do,  it  would  seem." 

"  Of  course  I  do  ;  everybody  knows  it." 

"  Of  course  I  could  win  her  if  I  chose,"  mused  Hervey, 
complacently,  "  if  that  is  what  you  mean  by  everybody 
knowing  I  am  to  do  so." 

Honor's  laugh  rang  fresh  and  clear  on  the  night  air,  and 
naturally  it  roused  Captain  Hervey's  languid  wrath. 

"  It  is  childish  to  laugh  at  nothing,  as  you  do,  Honor." 

"  Only  yesterday  you  told  me  it  was  childish  to  laugh  at 
everything.  You  are  inconsistent,  Hervey,  if  you  guide  me 
at  once  in  opposite  directions." 

"  If  Mr.  Keith  wins  Theodora  and  her  fortune,"  remarked 
Hervey,  presently,  with  an  idea  of  stem  retaliation,  "  what 
will  Lawrence  Haughton  do  ?  Because  everybody  knows, 
as  you  say,  that  Lawrence  is  to  marry  a  rich  wife  if  he 
marries  at  all." 

No  answer,  so  he  put  the  question  direct. 

*'  Do  you  think  Haughton  will  marry  a  rich  wife  ?  " 

•'  I  hope  he  will." 

"Why?" 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  with  a  tightening  of  her  lips, 
"  he  won't  be  at  all  happy  if  he  does — men  never  are  who 
marry  for  money — nor  will  she.  It  is  you  who  are  laughing 
at  nothing  now,  Hervey." 

"  Your  notions  of  the  world  seem  to  be  gleaned  from 
novels.  Why  do  you  not  wish  he  would  marry  a  penniless 
wife,  just  to  spite  Jane  ? " 

" Because  Jane  would  break  theheartof  the  penniless  wife," 

"  Honor  ! " 

"  Yes.  I'm  here," 


OLD  M YDDELTON' S  MONET.  4? 

"  Why,  you  have  tears  in  your  voice  !  Are  you  so  un- 
happy at  The  Larches  ?  " 

"  1  was  not  thinking  of  myself,"  returned  Honor,  hastily 

"  Don't  grieve  for  Phoebe,"  said  Hervey,  in  a  tone  of 
relief;  "she  doesn't  feel  these  things.  It  is  far  harder  to 
you,  Honor,  to  bear  the  love  of  the  man  you  scorn,  than  it  is 
to  her  to  bear  the  scorn  of  the  man  she  loves — poor  girl  1  " 

"  Hervey,  how  dare  you  speak  so  ! "  cried  Honor,  pas- 
sionately. "  You  know  nothing  about  this — about  Phoebe  or 
about  me.  I  will  not  allow  you  to  talk  so  to  me  of  my 
cousin,  or  of  myself.  Do  not  ever  again  pretend  you  can 
teach  me  to  be  a  gentlewoman,  for  you  do  not  yourself 
know  how  to  be  a  gentleman  !  Go  back  !  I'm  quite  safe ; 
I  would  rather  not  have  you." 

"  My  dear  Honor,"  he  began,  in  his  most  plausible  tones, 
"you  should  try  not  to  be  so  hasty.  Why  should  I  not 
mention  what,  to  use  your  own  words,  everybody  knows  ? 
Phosbe  makes  no  secret  of  her  infatuation  for  Lawrence, 
and  Lawrence  makes  no  secret  of  his  indifference  to  her,  so 
why  should  I  ?  You  make  no  secret  of  your  indifference  to 
Lawrence,  and  he  certainly  makes  no  secret  of  his  infatua- 
tion for  you,  so  why  should  I  ?  " 

"  It  is  most  ungenerous,"  said  Honor,  hotly  ;  and  then 
she  maintained  perfect  silence  for  the  rest  of  their  walk. 

The  Larches  was  a  sombre,  red-brick  house,  standing  a 
little  way  from  the  road,  and  separated  from  it  by  half-a- 
dozen  yards  of  brick  wall  between  two  white  gates  at  either 
end  of  the  curved  drive  which  passed  the  front  door.  At 
this  door  Honor  stood  in  the  darkness,  wondering  rathe* 
anxiously  who  would  let  her  in.  Hervey  had  left  her  at 
the  gate  ;  but,  though  she  did  not  know  it,  he  was  lingering 
there,  waiting  to  see  her  safely  into  the  house.  He  had  not 
long  to  wait ;  the  door  was  opened  promptly  to  her  sum- 
mons, and  he  saw  her  enter  the  lighted  hall. 

"  It  was  Haughton  himself  who  let  her  in,"  muttered 
Captain  Trent  as  he  walked  away.  "  She  will  be  vexed  if  no 
one  else  has  waited  up  for  her  ;  and  certainly  it  cannot  be  by 
Phoebe's  ownchoice  that  she  has  left  Haughton  to  do  it  alone.'' 

He  hastened  on  now,  "  whistling  as  he  went,  for  want  of 
thought,"  and  by  this  time  Honor  and  Mr.  Haughton  had 
entered  the  \vtuia  and  lighted  drawing-room. 


18  OLD  MYDDELTUN'S  M.ONEX . 

"  Everyone  gone  to  bed  ! "  she  exclaimed,  a  note  of  keen 
vexation  in  her  tone.  "  Why  did  not  Phoebe  sit  up  for  ine^ 
She  promised  she  would,  and  lam  as  early  as  Jane  bade  me. 

-*'  I  told  Phoebe  to  go  to  bed,"  returned  Mr.  Haughtos 
gently  taking  off  the  soft  white  shawl  which  Honor  hau 
worn  under  her  dark  cloak.     "  I  chose  to  wait  for  you,  and 
I  did  not  need  any  one  to  keep  me  company." 

Honor  glanced  at  him  for  one  moment  as  he  stood  in  the 
full  light,  and  then  she  quietly  pushed  away  the  chair  he 
had  drawn  up  to  the  fire  for  her. 

Honor's  guardian  was  a  man  of  forty,  a  little  above  the 
middle  height,  but  so  broadly  built  that  he  looked  below  it. 
His  hair  was  thickly  streaked  with  gray,  and  his  moustache 
gray  too — was  heavy  and  coarse  ;  his  face  habitually  shrewd 
and  callous,  and  his  eyes  habitually  keen  and  restless  ,• 
for  any  other  expression  which  might  be  upon  his  face 
to-night,  or  at  other  times  when  he  was  alone  with  Honor, 
was  not  its  customary  one.  He  was  a  powerful  man,  both 
physically  and  mentally  ;  a  man  who  seemed  to  have  his 
passions  and  his  words  completely  under  his  control,  and 
who,  if  he  had  not,  might  be  perhaps  a  dangerous  man  to 
thwart  Granger.  His  clients  spoke  of  him  as  asafe  and  ^elf- 
con  centra  ted  lawyer,  as  hard  to  understand  as  to  bend  ;  a 
clever  fellow,  whose  soft,  white  fingers  could  unravel,  in 
that  constant  silence  of  his,  the  most  intricate  knot  in  law. 
But  there  was  one  inmate  of  his  house  who  knew  him  in 
two  characters,  and  who  put  no  trust  it.  either. 

"  I  have  coffee  ready  for  you,  Honor,"  said  Mr.  Haughton 
taking  the  coffee-pot  from  the  fire  and  carrying  it  to  th» 
table  where  stood  one  solitary  cup  ;  "  1  know  it  will  refresh 
you  after  your  walk." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Honor,  but  her  voice,  for  all  its 
gentleness,  was  utterly  indifferent,  and  Lawrence  Haughton 
aoticed  this. 

"  Have  you  had  a  pleasant  evening  ?  "  he  asked,  rather 
nervously  pursuing  his  unwonted  and  womanish  task. 

"  A  little  better  than  usual,"  she  said  quietly  ;  '•'  but  I'm 
Tery  sleepy,  Lawrence.  May  I  go  to  bed  '< " 

"  Just  wait  until  you  have  drunk  this  coffee,  dear.  I  made 
it  myself  on  purpose  for  you,  and  I  have  kept  it  hot,  and 
fancied  you  would  enjoy  it." 


OLD  MYDDLLTON'S  MO:\TEY.  4fl 

He  had  come  up  to  her  then,  with  the  cup  in  his  hand,  and 
ghe  could  not  turn  away.  She  took  it  with  a  little  laugh, 
fresh  and  sweet. 

"You  look  odd  at  that  task,  Lawrence.  Why  did  yon 
attempt  it  ? " 

"  Because  it  was  for  you,"  he  said,  with  a  subdued  eager- 
ness  in  his  tone.  "  There  is  no  task  I  would  not  attempt 
for  you,  Honor." 

"  I  hope  there  is,"  she  answered,  very  gently:  "  and  please 
let  Phoebe  keep  her  promise  next  time,  and  sit  up  for  me, 
Lawrence." 

"Any  one  but  me,"  he  said,  a  dark  flush  rising  in  his 
face  ;  "yet  my  only  pleasure  through  this  day  has  been  the 
anticipation  of  these  few  minutes,  when  I  should  have  you 
here  to  talk  to  me  and  look  at  me,  as  you  rarely  do  when 
you  have  others  to  see  or  speak  to." 

There  was  silence  between  th<  m  then,  while  he  tried  to 
school  his  tones  to  easy  indifference  such  as  hers,  and  while  she 
wondered  childishly  whether  her  guardian's  culinary  achieve- 
ment was  known  to  his  sister,  whose  one  strong  idea  was  that 
it  was  he  who  ought  to  be  waited  on  by  all  the  household. 

"  Who  was  at  Deergrove  to-night,  Honor  ?  " 

Lawrence  was  standing  against  the  mantel-piece,  watching 
the  face  of  the  girl  beside  him  ;  and  it  seemed  as  if,  when 
she  had  answered  the  question,  his  gaze  grew  more  intent 
and  even  stern. 

"  Only  one  gentleman — Mr.  Keith.  He  is  staying  at  the 
Royal  Hotel  in  Kinbury  now  ;  he  has  been  visiting  Sir 
Philip  Somerson  at  the  Castle.  I  do  not  know  whether  he 
stays  for  the  shooting,  or  because  he  likes  the  neighbourhood. 
Do  you  know  him,  Lawrence  ? " 

"As  much,"  returned  Mr.  Haughton,  apparently  making 
an  effort  to  speak  easily,  "  as  I  know  any  other  idle  young  fel- 
low who  conies  to  stay  in  the  town  for  a  time,  professedly  for 
the  A bbotsmoor  fishing, or  shooting,  or  what  not — that  is  all." 

"  I  will  say  good  night  now,  Lawrence." 

He  put  down  the  empty  cup,  and  then  took  her  offered 
hand.  "  Good  night,"  he  echoed  ;  "  how  you  hasten  to  utter 
it !  Nothing  I  can  do  or  say  ever  tempts  you  to  lin<:<  r  with 
me.  My  beautiful  child,  my  favourite,  if  you  would  only 
consent  to  learn  one  lesson  from  Phoebe  ! " 


50  OLD  MYDDELTOX S  MONEY. 

"  I  am  too  old  to  learn,"  said  Honor,  defying  the 
which  such  words  always  gave  her,  in  s|.ite  of  their  frequency. 
"Oli,  Lawrence,  I  wish  you  were  as  sleepy  as  I  am  !  You 
would  hurry  me  off,  and  I  should  be  so  grateful  to  you 
afterwards." 

"  Honor,"  he  said,  looking  longingly  in  her  sweet,  pure 
face,  and  still  holding  her  hand  tightly  in  his  own,  "years 
ago,  when  you  were  a  little  one — my  favourite  then  aa 
always,  and  even  then  the  very  sunshine  of  my  life — 3 on 
used  to  bring  your  good-night  kiss  and  lay  it  softly  on  my 
lips.  Do  you  remember  ?  And  do'  you  remember  how  I 
would  never  let  Phoebe  kiss  me  afterwards  ?  No,  of  course 
you  do  not.  You  were  but  a  child  ;  what  could  you  know 
of  such  feelings,  or  of  the  dreams  that  were  my  very  life- 
breath  even  then,  and  which  you  are  trying  now  to  kill  for 
me?" 

'•  If  you  could  guess  how  unhappy  you  make  me  by  talking 
so,  Lawrence,"  the  girl  returned,  still  very  gently,  "I  think 
you  would  not  do  it  so  often.  Let  us  be  just  "what  we  were 
in  those  times  you  have  been  talking  of — cousins,  as  it  were, 
or  ward  and  guardian,  which  you  will — but  do  not  talk  of 
other  love  between  us.  It  is  impossible.  You  know  it,  and 
you  have  known  it  always,  if  you  would  only  own  it  to  your- 
self. You  know,  too,  that  I  have  no  home  but  yours  ;  and, 
if  you  were  generous,  you  would  not  take  every  opportunity 
of  making  me  unhappy  with  this  worn-out  subject.  Oh, 
why,"  she  cried,  her  hands  clasped  tightly  to  her  breast, 
"  should  you  have  given  me  this  passion  you  call  love?  You 
knew  I  never  could  love  you.  You  have  yourself  told  me  how 
I  would  not  go  near  you  when  I  first  came  here,  a  little 
child.  You  have  told  me  how  your  sister  tried  in  vain  to 
teach  me  to  admire  you,  and  Phoebe  tried  in  vain  to  teach 
me  to  worship  you,  and  you  yourself  tried — oh,  so  much 
more  in  vain  ! — to  teach  me  to  love  you.  Knowing  all  this, 
why  do  you  speak  to  me,  so  often,  as  you  have  done  to-night  ? 
(Vhat  right  have  I  given  you  ?" 

"None.  I  have  taken  the  right,"  said  Lawrence,  hig 
breath  quick  and  hard.  "  Your  pride  and  indifference, 
through  these  ten  years,  has  only  made  my  love  all  the 
stronger — never  mind  why,  we  cannot  understand  these 
things — but  you  are  a  woman  now,  and  must  repay  me  for 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  01 

these  ypnra  of  pnin  and  waiting,  Honor.  This  long  and 
Blighted  love  of  mine  shall  win  a  return.  You  cannot  crush 
or  kill  it,  for  it  is  stronger  than,  yourself,  aud  will  conquer  you." 

"I  shall  go  away  from  here  if  you  ever  speak  to  me  so 
again,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  flash  of  wrath  in  her  eyes,  "or 
I  must  pass  it  by  as  something  too — too  trivial  for  notice." 

"And  I,"  returned  Lawrence,  speaking  a5*  sternly  as  he 
ever  could  to  her,  "  shall  never  leave  off  telling  you  of  my 
love  until  you  own  your  love  is  mine  at  last." 

She  walked  quietly  from  the  room  even  while  he  spoke  ; 
but  he  followed  her,  eager  to  do  something  for  her  even  then. 

"  Why,  Lawrence,"  she  said,  taking  her  candle  from  hil 
hand,  and  by  an  effort  speaking  in  her  old  tones,  just  as  if 
that  interview  had  never  been,  "  there  is  a  light  in  youi 
room  !  "Who  is  there  ?  " 

"  Only  Slimp,"  returned  Mr.  Haughton,  looking  with 
annoyance  towards  the  line  of  light  from  the  door  of  his 
private  room.  "  He  has  a  deed  to  copy  for  me,  and  he's 
late  over  it.  Never  mind  him ;  he  will  not  be  here  for 
breakfast." 

"  Those  nre  good  tidings,"  said  Honor,  emphatically  ;  and, 
glancing  at  the  door  wit")  an  inimitable  mimicry  of  Mr. 
Slimp's  normal  expression,  she  ran  lightly  and  noiselessly 
upstairs. 

Mr.  Haughton,  smiling  at  the  remembrance  of  her 
comical  grimace,  watched  her  till  she  turned  out  of  sight, 
and  then  entered  his  own  room,  the  stern  and  watchful  man 
of  business  now,  the  unmoved  man  of  the  world. 

"  You  have  all  your  instructions,  Slimp,  so  you  can  go  to 
bed  when  you  like.  There  will  be  breakfast  for  you  in  this 
room  at  seven,  and  you  will  be  gone  before  I  come  down." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  was  Mr.  Slimp's  unquestioning  assent. 
But  he  looked  as  if  he  understood  an  omitted  margin  to  t  he 
words ;  and  if  Honor  had  been  there,  she  might  have 
Jboked  in  vain  for  the  deed  he  had  been  copying. 

"Do  the  Temple  thoroughly  ;  study  the  records,  and 
leave  no  stone  unturned.  I  have  written  on  the  back  of 
this  card  a  few  headings  to  remind  you,  and  on  the  other 
Bide  is  the  name.  Keep  the  card  carefully — I  had  trouble 
enough  to  get  it." 

Mr.  Slimp  took  it  from  Mr.  Haughton's  hand  deliberately  j 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 


read  the  pencilled  instructions  through  with  still  more  deli- 
beration ;  then,  turned  the  card  round,  and  read  the  name 
engraved  upon  the  other  side  —  "  Hoyden  Keith." 


CHAPTER  V. 

. — T  frown  upon  him,  yet  he  loves  me  fetill. 
HELENA. — O  that  your  frowns  would  teach  my  smiles  such  skill ' 
.SEKMIA. — The  more  I  hate,  the  more  he  follows  me. 
HELENA. — The  more  I  lo\e,  the  more  he  hateth  me. 

Midsummer  Night' t  Dream. 

"  ASLEEP,  Phoebe  ?  " 

At  the  sound  of  Honor's  bright  voice,  and  at  the  sight  of 
her  face  round  the  half-opened  door  of  Phoebe's  bed-room, 
a  head  sprang  from  the  pillow,  and  an  eager  whisper  bade 
her  come  in  and  shut  the  door. 

So  Honor  came  in  and  shut  the  door,  obediently  ;  then, 
putting  her  candlestick  down  upon  the  dressing-table,  and 
taking  up  an  easy  position  on  the  bed,  with  her  back  against 
the  iron  footrail,  she  looked  across  into  her  cousin's  face, 
and  remarked,  sententiously,  that  she  was  back  again.  And 
then  her  wakeful  eyes  went  wandering  round  the  little 
untidy  chamber  as  if  it  were  all  strange  to  them,  with  a 
shadow  in  them  deeper  than  their  wonder — a  shadow  which 
now  and  then  did  fall  upon  their  brightness  at  odd  timea 
and  in  familiar  scenes,  as  if,  even  yet,  the  life  which  had 
been  hers  ever  since  she  could  remember,  had  its  dark, 
inscrutable  corners  which  she  searched  in  vain. 

There  was  little  to  gaze  upon  in  this  bed-room  of  Phoebe's, 
BO  it  was  no  wonder  that  the  girl's  eyes  soon  came  back  to 
the  face  opposite  her,  and  rested  there. 

"Why,  Phoebe,"  Honor  said  then,  "you  have  been  crying !" 

Phoebe  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  with  her  hands  locked 
fcbout  her  knees,  and  her  broad,  Dutch-looking  face — rather 
pretty,  but  soulless  and  self-cbsorbed— was  flushed  and 
stained  with  tears. 

"  Crying  ?  "  she  stammered,  and  both  the  repetition  of 
the  wurd  and  the  inoriilied  gaze  betrayed  the  dependence 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  53 

and  the  self-consciousness  of  her  character.  "Why  should 
you  ?ay  so  ?  " 

"  1  am  led  to  that  conclusion  by  the  sight  of  tears.  Ain 
I  as  wise  as  that  doctor's  assistant  who  knew  his  patient  had 
been  eating  horse  because  he  caught  sight  of  the  saddle 
under  the  bed  ? " 

"  I  did  cry,"  replied  Phoebe,  plaintively,  "  because  Law- 
rence would  not  let  me  sit  up  for  you,  as  I'd  promised,  and 
because  he  hardly  spoke  to  me  all  the  evening." 

"  What  a  relief  ! "  remarked  Honor,  devoutly. 

"Not  to  me,"  sighed  Phoebe  ;  "you  know  it  isn't." 

"Yes,  1  know — I  do  know,"  rejoined  Honor,  pitifully, for 
how  could  she  help  pitying  the  girl  who  could  perpetually 
court  sympathy  for  having,  unasked  and  with  utter  absence 
of  pride,  or  even  self-respect,  laid  her  shallow  heart  at  her 
guardian's  feet  ?  "  Yes,  I  know,  Phcebe,  and  I  only  thought 
of  myself  when  I  spoke.  But  I  do  really  believe  that  some 
day  you  will  say,  with  me,  that  it  is  a  relief  when  Lawrence 
does  not  speak." 

••  I  never  should,"  said  Phoebe,  with  a  sigh.  "  I'm  not  so 
surprised  that  he  takes  no  notice  of  me  when  you  are  here  ; 
but  when  you  are  away  it  is  worse.  He  does  not  talk  at  all 
then  ;  he  hardly  stays  in  the  room  with* us.  Oh,  Honor,  I 
•Fish  I  didn't  care  !  But  I  do  ;  and — do  you  think  he  will 
iver  be  different  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so,  in  many  ways,"  said  Honor,  sagely  ;  "but  I 
think,  if  it  ever  came  to  happen  that  he  offered  his  love  to 
you,  Phoebe,  you  would  see  all  at  once,  that  it  wasn't  worth 
taking.  Has  it  been  very  dull  for  you  then,  poor  little  Frau?" 
— one  of  Honor's  pet  names  for  her  Dutch-visaged  cousin. 

"  Jane  was  as  cross  as  she  could  be,"  spoke  Phoebe,  em- 
phatically ;  "  and  she  said  lots  of  unkind  things  about  your 
going  to  Deergrove,  till  Lawrence  stopped  her  ;  he  said 
afterwards  she  was  never  to  speak  of  you  before  Mr.  Slimp." 

"  Oh,  he  was  here — I  forgot  that !  "  cried  Honor,  with  a 
Boft  little  laugh.  "I  saw  him.  I  caught  a  delightful  glimpse 
of  him  through  the  half-closed  door — sitting  so." 

Phoebe  laughed — though  in  a  rather  spiritless  manner — afc 
her  cousin's  quaint  imitation  of  Mr.  Slimp's  attitude  ;  and 
Jhen  Honor  turned  the  subject  delicately  from  that  com- 
plaint which  Phoebe  delighted  to  outpour. 


64  OLD  MYDDELTO-N'S  MONET. 

"  Stop  a  moment,  Phoebe.  Give  me  time  to  get  down 
from  the  bed,  and  I'll  give  you  a  rare  representation  of 
Theo's  manners  to-night;  especially  of  her  reception  and  her 
ferewell." 

The  ceremony  of  greeting  and  speeding  a  decidedly  poor 
relation — whose  part  in  the  scene  was  of  course  piux-lj 
imaginary — was  performed  with  perfect  gravity,  though  iu 
ludicrous  side  was  evident  from  the  laughter  which  chased 
away  all  Phoebe's  discontent.  Then  followed  a  slight  ex- 
hibition of  Captain  Hervey's  languid  deportment,  and  the 
elegant  sleepiness  which  Mr.  Trent  could  always  manage  to 
maintain,  undisturbed  by  the  keen  watch  she  kept  upon  her 
daughter,  and  the  frequent  lessons  she  vouchsafed  to  Honor. 

Then  Honor  ceased  her  acting  and  took  up  her  candlestick. 

"  If  you  and  I  were  rich,"  mourned  Phoebe,  plaintively, 
"  and  could  dress  and  talk  grandly,  they  would  behave  quite 
differently  to  us,  Honor.  They  wouldn't  invite  us  to  Deer- 
grove  just  on  sufferance,  one  at  a  time,  as  they  do  now  when 
they  have  a  place  vacant,  to  make  us  small  and  patronise  us, 
and  pretend  they  are  doing  a  very  noble  and  compassionate 
gort  of  thing  to  their  poor  relations." 

"That  will  do,  Phoebe.  Never  mind  that  old  grudge," 
returned  Honor,  brightly.  "  I  never  let  them,  treat  me  like  a 
poor  relation,  arid  I  can  often  glean  a  little  amusement  there." 

"  I  cannot,"  sighed  Phoebe  ;  "  they  quench  me  entirely. 
I  always  corne  home  miserable,  and  wishing  I  was  rich  and 
beautiful  and  admired,  that  I  might  pay  back  Theo  for  her 
scornful  ways.  Honor,  do  you  ever  have  day-dreams  about 
be<ng  rich  ? " 

"  Often.  Such  gorgeous  dreams  they  are,  and  I'm  go 
beautiful  in  them,  and  wear  such  matchless  dresses,  and 
have  horses,  and  carriages,  and  servants,  and  a  magnificent 
castle  of  my  own,  and  I  reed  all  the  poor,  aad  have  all  the 
sick  cured,  and  everybody  idolises  me,  and  I'm  presented  to 
the  Queen — so,"  explained  Honor,  sweeping  her  skirt  along 
ihe  shabby  drugtret,  in  the  performance  of  a  wonderfuj 
curtsey,  "and  all  the  ladies  and  lords-in-waiting  whisper 
that  there  never  was  such  a  lovely  person  seen  before,  even 
at  Court." 

"  Perhaps  they're  not  allowed  to  whisper  when  the  Queen 
u  by,"  put  in  Phosbe,  her  practical  nature  stumbling  here. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  55 

"I'm  quite  certain  that  the  Earl  of  Essex  often  whis- 
pered," returned  the  younger  girl,  with  confidence,  "and 
Anne  Boleyn  was  just  the  one  to  whisper  a  great  deal  when 
she  was  a  maid-of-honour  ;  and  so  they  whisper  in  my 
dreams,  and  everything  is  wonderful  and  beautiful  their 
Phoebe ;  but  I  never  care  about  crowing  over  Theo — she  isn't 
in  the  dreams  at  all." 

Phoebe  had  so  thoroughly  taught  hwself  to  lean  upon 
Honor's  deeper,  brighter  nature  that  it  gave  her  generally  a 
curious  air  of  dependence  and  submission  to  her  younger 
rousin  totally  at  variance  to  her  superiority  in  point  of 
vears,  But  there  were  times  when  she  roused  herself  to  a 
fleeting  priority,  on  the  basis  of  her  freedom  from  those  de- 
ceptions encouraged  by  a  disposition  so  dreamy,  credulous, 
and  speculative  as  her  cousin's.  At  such  rare  moments  she 
believed  implicitly  Jane  Haughton's  favourite  ax'om  that 
"  Honor  had  not  a  grain  of  sterling  common  sense,"  and 
invest  herself  abundantly  with  that  oft-misnamed  com- 
modity. Such  a  moment  followed  Honor's  soft  voice- 
painting  of  her  childish  dream. 

'•  You  always  go  into  impossibilities,  Honor.  I  think 
only  of  what  may  be." 

Impossibilities  !  While  the  white-clad  figure,  in  spite  of 
its  dingy  background  and  the  scant  light  thrown  upon  it, 
was  so  purely  beautiful !  Impossibilities!  While  the  eyes 
were  so  full  of  trust  and  courage  for  the  time  to  come,  and 
that  time  to  come  was  so  safely  hidden  beyond  a  golden  mist 
made  up  of  possibilities  ! 

"  You  know  Lady  Lawrence  may  leave  us  a  share  of  her 
wealth,"  added  Phrebe,  apparently  aggrieved.  "  She  ought 
not  entirely  to  forget  us  girls,  and  leave  it  all  to  Lawrence 
or  Hervey,  or  even  both." 

Honor's  laugh  rang  out  merrily. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  are  all  alike,"  she  said  :  "all  building 
out  future  on  old  Myddelton's  money.  Oh,  what  tottering 
fabrics  !  But  your  mentioning  Lady  Lawrence  reminds  me 
of  something  else,  Phrebe.  The  Abbotsmoor  pic-nic  is  fixed 
for  Thursday,  and  the  photograph,  with  Abbotsmoor  itself 
as  a  background,  is  to  be  sent  to  Lady  Lawrence  in  India." 

"Oh,  how  nice  !  "  cried  Phosbe,  ecstatically.  "May  we 
all  choose  our  own  postures,  and  by  whom  we  will  stand  or 


56  OLD  MYDDELTOX'S  MONEY. 

sit  ?  What  shall  I  wear  ?  Oh,  Honor,  I  have  not  any  nice 
dress  to  go  in." 

"  Have  you  not  ? "  asked  Honor,  always  such  a  gentle, 
helpful  receiver  of  these  lugubrious  and  spasmodic  expres- 
sions of  Phoebe's  anxieties  respecting  her  wardrobe  and  de- 
ficiencies therein.  "  How  is  that  ?  I  thought  we  should  wear 
the  dresses  we  had  for  the  bazaar  at  Somerson  Park." 

"  You  can  ;  yours  looks  all  right,''  whined  Phoebe  ;  "  and 
of  course  you  will,  because  everybody  said  that  it  suited  you ; 
but  I  cannot.  Mine  is  as  torn,  and  as  soiled,  and  as  shabby 
as  ever  it  can  be,  and  I'm  sure  I  would  not  disgrace  myself 
by  putting  it  on." 

Phoebe  had  risen  in  her  excitement,  and  taken  the  dress 
from  its  drawer,  and  now  she  threw  it  contemptuously  ou  the 
bed  before  Honor. 

"  It  was  very  pretty  at  first,  I  know,"  she  said,  "  and  no 
one  would  believe  you  had  done  all  the  planning  and  trim- 
ming, for  they  looked  like  French  dresses.  But  you  must 
own,  Honor,  that  I  could  not  wear  it  now." 

"  If  you  like,"  said  Honor,  slowly,  not  questioning 
Phoebe's  right  to  have  spoiled  the  dress  while  her  own — 
bought,  and  made,  and  worn  at  the  same  time — was  fresh 
and  unsoiled,  "  if  you  like,  Phoebe,  we  will  wear  our  black 
silks. ' 

"  Black  silks  at  a  pic-nic  !  "  exclaimed  Phoebe.  "  No,  in- 
deed. But  it  was  a  kind  offer  of  yours,  Honor,"  she  added, 
remorsefully,  "  for  your  dress  is  almost  as  good  as  new,  and 
you  look  so  lovely  in  it.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  you  might 
do" — this  in  a  tone  of  anxious  coaxing — "you  might  get 
Lawrence  to  give  us  money  for  a  new  one  each.  Tell  him 
how  we  have  not  five  shillings  left  of  this  quarter's  allow- 
ance. He  will  not  refuse  you,  Honor." 

"  I  would  go  in  my  oldest  dress  sooner  than  ask  for  anew 
one  from  him,"  returned  the  younger  girl ;  "  I  always  keep 
within  my  allowance  for  that  very  reason." 

Phoebe's  eyes  filled  ;  they  were  gentle,  rather  prominent, 
light  gray  eyes,  with  a  fountain  very  near  them  ;  but  still 
these  ready  tears  had  always  the  same  effect  upon  Honor  ; 
and  when  Phoebe  said,  ruefully,  "  He  would  not  give  time, 
or  L  would  ask  for  myself ;  but  he  never  refuses  you,''  she 
kissed  her  quietly,  and  said  she  would  ask  their  guardtan  for 


OLD  MTDDELTON'S  MONEY.  57 

the  dress,  and  did  not  blame  her,  by  one  word,  for  the  selfish 
Use  she  made  of  her  guardian's  favourite. 

"  I  shall  sleep  comfortably  now,"  observed  Phoebe,  shak- 
ing up  her  pillow.  "  Good  night,  Honor  dear  ;  though  you 
have  not  told  me  much  about  Deergrove.  Was  there  no 
guest  but  yourself  ?  " 

"  Only  one,"  said  Honor,  from  the  open  doorway  ;  "  but 
— go  to  sleep,  Phoebe." 

"  For, "added  the  girl  to  herself,  as  she  closed  the  bed- 
room door  behind  her,  "  if  I  speak  or  think  again  of  that 
other  guest,  my  thoughts  will  go  off  once  more  to  Gabriel 
Myddelton  and  that  often-told  story  which  I  heard  again  to- 
night. How  plain  it  was  that  Mr.  Keith  saw  no  way  of 
accounting  for  the  murder  but  by  Gabriel's  having  com- 
mitted it !  How  curiously  he  asked  if  a  doubt  had  ever  been 

entertained  as  to  Gabriel's  guilt,  and  no  onecould  say  'Yes' !" 
******* 

Next  morning,  from  a  feverish  dream  in  which  old  Myd- 
delton was  murdering  Mr.  Keith,  and  she  and  Gabriel — • 
just  as  he  might  have  walked  out  of  the  picture  at  Abbots- 
moor — stood  looking  on,  Honor  was  roused  by  the  clanging 
of  the  shrill  bell  which  was  wont,  at  eight  o'clock  A.M.,  to 
summon  the  occupants  of  The  Larches  to  break  their  fast 
upon  the  sternly  simple  viands  which  Miss  Haughton'fl 
ingenuity  and  economy  had  suggested. 

"  Late  again,"  remarked  that  lady,  as  Honor  entered  the 
breakfast-room  half-an-hour  afterwards,  sweet  and  fresh  as 
a  summer  rose  on  which  the  dew-drops  sparkle,  and  with 
that  clear  light  within  her  eyes  which  could  not  have  shone 
there  if  the  soul  behind  had  not  been  free  from  taint  of 
vanity  or  selfishness. 

Mr.  Haughton  half  rose  from  his  seat  as  Honor  came  up 
to  the  table,  but,  with  a  sudden  change  of  purpose,  he  drew 
his  chair  closer,  and  began  to  carve  the  cold  meat  before  him. 

His  sister  passed  by  the  girl's  bright  "good  morning," 
and  poured  out  her  tea  with  a  rigid  displeasure  stamping 
every  feature.  Jane  Haughton  was  certainly  not  one  of 
those  whose  presence  at  any  time  makes  sunshine  in  a  house. 
Hers  had,  on  the  contrary,  rather  the  effect  of  February 
sleet  or  a  November  fog  ;  but  in -the  early  morning  this  tvui 
peculiarly  noticeable. 


58  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

"  A  real  wet  blanket,"  Honor  thought,  as  she  took  her  cnp 
from  Jane's  hand,  "  would  have  a  far  more  soothing  effect." 
Conversation  at  The  Larches  was  never  very  warm  and 
general,  especially  at  breakfast ;  but  certainly  this  morning 
as  on  many  another  morning,  Honor  tried  her  best  to  make 
it  so.  She  chatted  of  her  visit  last  night,  and  described  the 
dinner  to  Jane,  undeterred  by  that  lady's  etoniness  of 
aspect.  She  gave  Phoebe  an  account  of  the  dresses,  the  new 
hooks  she  had  seen,  and  the  new  duet  she  had  heard,  undis- 
turbed by  Phoebe's  distracted  attention  and  surreptitious 
signs  to  her  not  to  forget  her  promise ;  and  she  retailed  to 
Lawrence  the  chief  points  of  the  conversation. 

"  That  other  guest,"  remarked  Mr.  Haughton,  "  must 
have  been  vastly  edified  by  so  much  talk  of  old  Myddelton 
and  his  connections,  especially  after  the  speech  I  heard  old 
Mrs.  Payte  make  to  him  a  day  or  two  ago." 

"What  was  that?" 

"  She  said  old  Myddelton's  relations  could  be  nothing 
but  money- loving  and  cowardly." 

"  Oh,  what  a  falsehood  and  a  shame  ! "  cried  Phcebe, 
always  ready  to  reply  to  him.  "  Suppose  she  knew  you  had 
overheard  that,  Lawrence  ?  " 

"I  believe  she  did  know,"  he  answered,  carelessly  ;  "she 
Joes  not  care  who  overhears  her  sour  speeches." 

"  What  did  Mr.  Keith  say  ?"  inquired  Jane. 

*'  Do  you  suppose  1  cared  to  listen  ?  " 

"  It  must  be  satisfactory  to  him,"  said  Honor,  quietly, 
"  to  feel  that  he  has  not  been  deceived  in  his  estimate  of  us. 
There  is  plenty  of  cowardice  and  love  of  money  amongst  us." 

"There  may  be  these  qualities  amongst  us,"  replied 
Lawrence,  looking  into  the  girl's  eyes,  "  but  there  is  neither 
of  them  in  you,  Honor." 

"  They  belong  to  the  very  name  of  Myddelton,"  returned 
Honor,  with  a  hot,  vexed  blush,  for  nothing  distressed  her 
more  than  such  a  speech  from  him  in  presence  of  his  sister 
And  poor  little  Phosbe,  "  and  he  sees  how  we  all  hate 
each  other  in  our  hearts,  and  he  knows  we  shall  hate  each 
other  until  Lady  Lawrence's  will  is  read,  when  we  shall 
immediately  concentrate  all  our  hatred  upon  her  heir." 

"It's  all  Gabriel  Myddelton's  fault,"  sighed  Phoebe. 
"  that  these  dreadful  things  are  laid  to  our  charge  ;  but, 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  CD 

Honor,  you  know  very  well  that  it  is  only  the  Trents  wh<r 
hate  "— — 

Phcebe  broke  off  abruptly  in  her  speech,  for  Mr.  Haughton 
had  left  the  room,  and  she  had  something  far  more  important 
to  urge  upon  Honor  than  any  want  of  affection  in  the  Trents. 

"Go  now,"  she  whispered  across  the  table,  "remember 
yonr  promise,  Honor." 

Honor  put  her  chair  back  into  its  place  against  the  wfill 
— according  to  one  of  Jane's  most  strictly  enforced  lessons 
— and  left  the  room  too. 

In  the  hall,  as  she  paused  in  her  extreme  unwillingness 
to  enter  Lawrence's  study,  Phoebe  rushed  out  to  her, 
almost  breathless  in  her  eagerness. 

"  Make  haste,  Honor,"  she  cried,  pushing  her  cousin 
towards  the  door  of  Mr.  Haughton's  study,  "  he  may  go  off 
in  a  hurry.  Why  should  you  dawdle  here  when  you  know 
he  will  do  it  for  you  ?  This  is  too  unkind  of  you, 
Honor." 

"  Take  your  hands  away  ;  leave  me  to  open  the  door 
myself,"  said  Honor,  with  a  quick  catch  of  her  breath  ;  "  I 
will  not  be  dragged  to  do  what  I  have — promised." 

When  Honor  entered  the  room,  her  guardian  was  locking 
the  drawers  of  his  writing-table.  He  had  taken  the  key 
from  the  last,  and  put  the  bunch  into  his  pocket,  before  he 
saw  her,  or  heard  her  quiet  tread.  Then  he  stepped  back 
to  the  chimney-piece,  and  looked  at  her  with  a  pleased  smile 
— quite  willing,  evidently,  that  she  should  detain  him  as 
long  as  she  chose. 

"  Please,  Lawrence,"  the  girl  began  simply,  "  will  you  let 
Phcebe  have  a  little  money  this  morning  ?  " 

"No.  I  have  told  Phoebe  a  hundred  times  that  if  I  per- 
mit her  to  overdraw  her  allowance,  she  will  grow  more  and 
more  extravagant,  and  will  not  be  able  to  extricate  herself." 

Honor  could  not  see  that  this  impatient  retort  was  chiefly 
evoked  in  his  sudden  disappointment  by  finding  that  it  was 
for  some  one  else's  sake  that  she  had  sought  him  ;  she  only 
gaw  that  he  looked  firm  in  his  refusal. 

"  I  have  told  her  this  a  hundred  times,"  he  repeated  ;  "and 
1  will  not  trouble  myself  to  tell  her  again.  She  is  absurd 
and  wasteful  in  her  expenditure.  Tell  her  to  do  as  you  do  ; 
you  ha^e  the  same  allowance,  and  )ou  always  look  neat — " 


00  OLD  MY1JDELTON8  MONEY. 

"  Jane  says  if  there  was  another  person  in  the  house  like  me 
fche  should  be  driven  wild." 

"  A  pretty  safe  speech,"  sneered  Lawrence  ;  "  the  if  is  a 
huge  one.  Jane's  reason  ?or  the  feeling,  poor  old  girl,  if 
cot  inscrutable,  though.  You  forgive  those  speeches,  Honor," 
he  added,  in  another  tone,  "  when  you  remember  how 
jealously  she  guards  my  affection  ?  You  can  understand 
why  she  is  harder  to  you  than  to  Phoebe  ?  She  is  not  afraid 
of  Phoabe's  ever  supplanting — 

"  Phoebe  is  a  great  deal  smaller  than  Jane,  why  should 
June  be  afraid  ?  " 

"  Laughing,  always  laughing,"  muttered  Mr.-  Haughton. 
"  Is  life  to  be  all  a  jest  for  you  ?  " 

A  soft,  quick  shadow  fell  upon  the  girl's  face.  She  was 
but  eighteen,  and  an  orphan.  Into  no  mother's  listening 
ear  and  loving  heart  could  she  whisper  the  doubts,  and 
hopes,  and  longings  which  troubled  and  cheered  her.  Upon 
no  father's  arm  had  she  lent  through  all  her  girlhood  ;  no 
father's  strong  and  steadfast  love  had  guided  and  taughther 
And  beyond  !  What  awaited  this  girl  whose  generous  aims 
and  impulses  were  all  thrown  back  upon  herself  in  this 
cramped  home  ?  What  awaited  her  beyond  ?  Was  life  to 
to  be  all  a  jest  ?  No  wonder  such  a  swift,  sad  shadow  fell 
upon  her  face  like  a  foreboding. 

"Let  Jane  say  what  she  will,  Honor,"  spoke  Lawrence, 
extending  his  hand  to  her.  "  You  shall  be  denied  nothing 
while  I  am  master  here." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  Jane's  speech,"  she  said,  rousing 
herself  from  that  moment's  inexplicable  sadness,  and  moving 
a  little  back  from  the  outstretched  h>ind.  "  Will  you  give 
Pho3be  the  money,  please,  Lawrence  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  angrily,  but  very  slowly,  as  he 
gazed  into  her  face  ;  "  but  I  will  give  it  you  if  you  like." 

"  I  do  not  want  it,"  began  Honor,  in  haste,  but  he  went 
on  after  her  interruption,  as  if  he  had  wot  hesitated. 

"  You  may  do  as  you  like  with  it,  of  course  ;  spend  it  for 
Pho3be,  if  you  choose,  or  give  it  to  her  to  speud.  I  do 
not  care  what  is  done  with  it  afterwards.  How  much  is.  it 
to  be  ?  Is  this  enough  ?  " 

He  had  taken  two  sovereigns  from  his  purse,  bat  he  held 
the  puree  etill  opej? 


OLD  MYDDELTOX'S  MONEY.  61 

"  Phoebe  only  wished  for  one,"  said  Honor,  in  her  proud, 
quiet  tones. 

"  I  did  not  ask  Phoebe,"  returned  Mr.  Haughton,  closing 
the  purse,  and  once  more  holding  his  hand  towards  Honor, 
with  the  money  in  it ;  "  take  them,  Honor.  Of  course 
Phoebe  bade  you  ask,  but,  come  at  whose  bidding  you  will, 
you  know  that  I  never  could  refuse  a  request  of  youra, 
Some  day,  perhaps,  the  favours  you  come  to  ask  will  be  for 
yourself,  as  they  used  to  be  in  old  times.  Take  it.  "Why 
do  you  wait  so  long  ?  " 

Slowly  and  daintily,  with  barely  a  touch  of  her  soft,  white 
fingers,  she  took  the  gold  coins  from  his  palm. 

"Thank  you,  Cousin  Lawrence." 

"Cousin  Lawrence!"  he  echoed,  angrily.  "You  are 
skilled  in  wounding,  Honor,  and  I  am  a  stone,  of  couree, 
and  cannot  feel  or  see.  I  am  not  supposed  to  know  thut 
you  avoid  touching  my  hand,  when  you  do  it  with  sui:h 
gentle  grace.  I  am  not  supposed  to  know  that  you 
shrink  from  any  obligation  to  me,  when  you  thank  me 
BO  prettily.  Cousin  !  Bah  !  thai  one  word  is  hateful  tome 
from  your  lips." 

"  Is  it  ? "  asked  Honor,  gravely.  "  Would  you  have  me 
gay  Uncle  Lawrence  ?  Would  this  sound  better — Thank 
you,  Uncle  Lawrence  ?  " 

"  Is  that  all  the  payment  you  will  give  me  ?  "  inquired 
Mr.  Haughton,  his  anger  giving  way  to  amusement,  as  it 
generally  did  when  he  talked  with  her. 

"  Yes,  that  is  all,"  she  answered,  speaking  to  him  just  a? 
she  used  to  do  when  she  was  a  child,  and  had  not  learned 
the  secret  of  why  it  was  she  to  whom  he  always  listened, 
and  she  whose  company  he  always  sought.  "Phoebe  will 
repay  her  own  debts." 

"I  want  no  thanks  from  Phoebe,"  he  interrupted, 
moodily.  "  Let  her  have  her  ribbons  and  flowers  and 
foolery,  and  be  content.  Do  not  send  her  with  he?  gushing 
thanks  to  me.  What  is  it  ?  What  makes  you  look  so  hurt 
and  proud  ?  The  old  story,  eh,  of  my  duty  to  Phoebe  as  her 
guardian — of  my  unkindness — of  her  wasted  affection,  may 
be  ?  I  do  not  know  ;  I  am  not  to  blame  in  the  matter  ; 
you  can  testify  to  that,  Honor.  Do  not  tnrn  away.  Listen 
tor  one  moment,  my  little  favourite.  You  can  set  every 


f2  OLD  MFDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

thing  straight.    Phoebe  shall  have  what  she  likes,  drcpset 
and  feathers  to  satiety — if  you  will  give  me  what  I  want.1 

"  1  could  not,  Cousin  Lawrence,"  said  Honor,  with  * 
demure  shake  of  the  head,  "  because  what  you  want  is  * 
contented  mind." 

Then  she  gave  him  her  bright  little  daring  nod,  and, 
leaving  him,  ran  upstairs  with  the  news  for  winch  Phoebe 
was  so  anxiously  waiting. 

"  We'll  walk  into  Kinbury  this  afternoon  and  buy  the 
dress,"  exclaimed  Phoebe,  in  a  rapture  of  delight,  "  and  we 
shall  be  able  to  make  it  ourselves  to-morrow,  and  so  can 
Bpend  all  the  extra  money  on  trimmings." 

''Yes,"  said  Honor,  kindly,  knowing  on  whom  the  cutting 
and  the  trimming  and  the  chief  work  would  fall ;  "  yes,  we 
can  do  it  to-morrow,  and  have  it  all  ready  for  Thursday 
morning  ;  and  on  our  way  home  this  afternoon  we  will  call 
at  East  Cottage.  Now  I  am  going  to  see  if  I  can  help  Jane." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

She  doeth  little  kindnesses, 
"Which  most  leave  undone  or  despise  ; 
For  nought  that  sets  one's  heart  at  ease, 
And  giveth  happiness  or  peace, 
Is  low-esteemed  in  her  eyes. 


Miss  Owen's  all-important  purchases  were  made, 
Honor  made  one  which  excited  Phoebe's  curiosity  amazingly. 
Yet  it  was  only  a  packet  of  wools  of  various  shades  and 
colours,  and  a  roll  of  fine  canvas. 

"  Why  carry  it  ?  "  Phoebe  asked,  as  Honor  took  thig 
parcel  in  her  hand.  "  Let  it  be  sent  with  the  other  things." 

"  No,"  whispered  Honor.  "  It  is  not  large  enough  to  be 
inconvenient  —  I  wish  it  were." 

On  their  way  home,  the  girls  stopped  before  a  low  white 
cottage  standing  in  a  long  garden  where  flowers,  fruits,  and 
regetables  grew  promiscuously. 

"  Oh  !  do  not  go  in  here,"  exclaimed  Phoebe,  pettishly. 
"  Mrs.  Pav  to  is  such  a  disagreeable  old  woman,  and  ^Irg. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  G3 

Disbrowe  so  dull  and  depressing.     Come  along,  Honor  ; 
they  haven't  seen  us." 

Honor  had  unfastened  the  gate  by  this  time. 

"If  you  wish  to  walk  on,  Phoebe,  do,"  she  said  ;  "and  I 
will  overtake  you." 

But  Phoebe  had  no  wish  to  walk  on  by  herself,  and,  more- 
over,  the  thought  struck  her  that,  if  they  loitered  hero, 
perhaps  Lawrence  might  overtake  them  on  his  way  home 
from  his  office.  So  she  followed  Honor  up  the  garden  path. 

A  small,  sharp-faced  old  lady,  in  a  broad -brimmed  hat 
and  leather  gloves,  stood  on  the  gravel  path  before  the 
cottage  windows,  leaning  on  a  garden  hoe,  which  looked 
heavy  and  cumbersome  in  the  tiny  hands  of  this  small  old 
lady.  Her  bright,  shrewd  eyes  shone  steadily  from  under 
the  brim  of  her  ugly  brown  hat  as  she  watched  the  girls 
coming  ;  but  her  thin  lips  broke  into  no  smile  of  welcome, 
and  she  advanced  no  step  to  meet  her  visitors. 

Behind  her,  at  the  open  window  of  the  cottage  parlour, 
sat  another  lady,  totally  different  in  appearance,  though 
probably  of  the  same  age.  Both  were  widows  ;  yet,  while 
Mrs.  Disbrowe  wore  the  dress  which  belongs  to  lifelong 
widowhood,  little  Mrs.  Payte  had  decked  herself  in  an 
artistic  combination  of  colours.  Both  were  at  least  seventy 
years  of  age  ;  yet,  while  Mrs.  Disbrowe  lay  in  her  lar^e 
chair,  calm  and  tranquil,  as  sweet  old  age  should  be,  and 
with  the  soft  white  hair  and  patient  eyes  which  a  sweet  old 
age  should  wear,  Mrs.  Payte's  small  figure  stood  firm  and 
erect,  and  her  keen,  quick  eyes  and  mobile  features  had 
still  the  restlessness  and  strength  of  youth. 

It  needed  no  second  glance  to  tell  that  the  government  of 
East  Cottage  was  on  the  shoulders  of  the  smaller  lady,  and 
that  the  invalid  sitting  at  the  window  in  the  September 
sunshine  was  fully  and  humbly  aware  of  this.  The  old 
ladies  had  not  been  particularly  reticent  about  their  private 
or  personal  affairs  ;  so  it  was  no  secret  in  the  village  that 
the  rooms  at  East  Cottage  had  been  taken  not  only  to 
benefit  Mrs.  Disbrowe's  health,  but  because  Mrs.  Payte 
found  it  convenient  to  stay  here  at  present  to  economise. 
It  was  on  that  very  subject  that  Mrs.  Payte  was  speaking  to 
her  friend,  when  tho  garden  gate  opened  to  admit  the  girls. 
"  We  have  been  here  nearly  two  mouths,"  she  was  say Uag, 


64  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

"  and  T  don't  see  any  improvement  in  your  health,  Selina  v 
indeed,  I  think  you  lie  down  more  than  ever  ;  and  I'm  sure, 
on  such  a  moruing  as  this" — Honor  was  near  enough  now 
for  her  quick  young  ears  to  catch  every  word — "  you  might 
very  well  exert  yourself  a  little.  I  hate  to  see  people  giving 
way  to  thorough  indolence.  Here's  Honor  Craven — she'll 
tell  you  how  pleasant  it  is  out  of  doors." 

"  It  is  quite  as  pleasant  at  the  open  window,  Mrs.  Disbrowe," 
said  Honor,  with  a  gentle  smile  into  the  patient's  worn  face, 
as  she  went  up  to  the  window  and  took  the  invalid's  hand 
— "  quite  as  pleasant " — this  with  a  little  emphasis,  half  in 
fun,  half  in  earnest,  as  she  turned  again  to  shake  the  leather- 
gloved  hand  which  Mrs.  Payte  extended  leisurely. 

"  I'm  very  poorly  myself,"  asserted  the  small  old  lady, 
with  a  defiant  expression  in  every  feature  which  the  brown 
hat  shaded  ;  "  only  no  one  ever  notices.  As  for  Selina,  she 
never  thinks  any  one  suffers  but  herself ;  and  she — why,  she 
sleeps  all  night  like  a  top,  and  I  may  toss  and  sigh,  and  she 
hears  nothing  of  it.  If  I  could  sleep  as  she  does,  I  wouldn't 
call  myself  ill.  Dear  me,  Honor,  you  need  not  look  at  her 
in  that  sort  of  sickeningly  compassionate  way.  If  she  could 
hear  every  word,  it  would  not  hurt  her,  but  she  cannot.  She 
gets  "deafer  every  day,  and  only  hears  me  when  I  shout  at 
the  top  of  my  voice.  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  hurting 
her.  Do  you  wonder  that  my  patience  is  exhausted,  when 
you  see  how  lackadaisical  she  is — eh,  Phoebe  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do  not,"  said  Phoebe  ;  for  of  course  it  was 
easier  and  wiser  to  concur  with  the  sharp- tempered  old  lady, 
when  Phoebe  knew  the  invalid  could  not  hear. 

"  You  know  very  well  how  worried  I  am  with  her,  and 
how  my  patience  is  tried — don't  you,  Honor  ?  " 

"  I  see  how  Tier  patience  is  tried,  Mrs.  Payte,"  the  girl 
said,  softly.  "  To  lighten  her  suffering,  if  that  were  possible, 
or  ease  the  tedium  of  her  da}  s,  could  hardly  be  worry  for 
any  one  to  whom  the  opportunity  is  given." 

"  Dear  me !"  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  shrilly.  "  One  would 
think  you  envied  me  the  pleasant  occupation." 

"  I  think  I  do,"  said  Honor,  thoughtfully  ; "  I  so  often  and 
often  think  of  her — how  she  is  suffering  hour  after  hour  with- 
out hope  of  ease,  yet  without  complaint,  and  I  do  so  long  to 
be  able  to  do  something  to  make  the  pain  more  bearable." 


OLD  MYDBELTON'S  MONET.  65 

"I  verily  believe  you  mean  it,"  was  the  slow  retort,  as 
Mrs.  Edna  Payte  looked  v.  ith  keen  scrutiny  into  the  girl's 
earnest  face  ;  "you  look  as  if  you  did.  Well,  we  shall  soon 
gee  how  hollow  this  idea  is,  for  I  give  you  leave  from  this 
moment  to  take  what  share  you  will  of  this  tedious  and 
enervating  occupation.  There — now  you  won't  make  that 
speech  again,  I  fancy." 

"  May  I  come  when  I  like  ?  "  inquired  Honor,  earnestly. 
.  "  May  1  do  whatever  I  can,  to  cheer  her  or  relieve  her  ? 
May  I  really,  Mrs.  Payte  ? " 

"  You  may  do  whatever  you  choose,"  returned  the  old 
.ady,  with  <  omplacent  contempt ;  "  we  will  soon  see  how 
little  that  will  be,  now  the  way  is  clear  for  you.  We  are  all 
anxious  enough  to  walk  up  the  '  straight  and  thorny  path 
to  heaven '  so  long  as  we  cannot  find  it  ;  but  as  soon  as  ever 
it  lies  there  right  before  our  eyes,  like  the  side  of  a  precipice 
covered  with  briers,  why,  then  we  sneak  back  again,  and 
leave  off  talking  about  it.  Well,"  after  a  pause,  "  why 
don't  you  contradict  me,  child,  and  say  how  sure  you  are 
that  you  can  tread  safely  among  the  adders,  and  the  tangles, 
and  the  pitfalls  ?  " 

"  I  dare  not,"  said  the  girl,  softly  ;  "  but  you  will  not  take 
back  your  promise  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  the  old  lady,  smiling  cynically  into 
Honor's  beautiful,  earnest  eyes  ;  "  I  shall  wait  till  I  see  the 
ashes  of  all  your  high-flown  resolutions.  There,  that's 
enough  of  such  nonsense.  What's  the  news  in  Kinbury, 
girls  ? " 

This  was  one  of  Mrs.  Payte's  unvarying  questions,  and 
Phoebe  was  prepared  tor  it,  and  took  a  keen  enjoyment  in 
pouring  into  such  willing  ears  all  that  she  could  tell  of  small 
news — the  only  giant  among  the  items  being  the  descrip- 
tion of  her  new  dress. 

"  Whose  taste  was  it  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Payte,  curtly,  and 
Phoebe  eagerly  appropriated  the  credit,  coiiles-ing,  though 
Without  any  malice,  that  indeed  Honor  wanted  her  not  to 
have  the  fashionable  mixture  of  pink  and  blue. 

"  If  it  is  the  fashion,  have  it,"  said  Mrs.  Payte,  with 
terseness.  "  What  is  Honor's  taste  compared  with  fashion  ?  " 

"  So  I  said,"  exclaimed  Phoebe,  delighted  ;  "  and  I  do 
not  se*j  why  one  should  dress  dowdilj  at  a  pic-nic,  though 


66  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

I'm  snre  I  do  not  want  to  vex  Honor,  because  she's  going  to 
help  me  make  it." 

"  Certainly,  don't  vex  her — for  yonr  own  sake,"  advised 
the  old  lady,  in  those  four  last  words  hitting  carelessly  upon 
the  main-spring  of  Phoebe's  character. 

"  Is  your  allowance  greater  than  Honor's,  Phoebe  ?  "  in- 
quired Mrs.  Disbrowe,  when  the  chief  points  of  conversa- 
tion became  apparent  to  her. 

"  No,  we  have  the  same." 

"  Then  I'm  afraid  you  will  always  be  behind-hand,  and 
always  wanting  help,"  was  the  quiet  reply  ;  "  for  don't  you 
remember  what  George  Herbert  says,  '  Who  cannot  live  on 
twentie  poundes  a  yeare  cannot  on  fortie  '  ?  " 

"  That's  nonsense,  of  course,"  said  Phoebe,  "  and  it  is  not 
many  girls  who  have  to  dress  on  forty  pounds  a  year,  as  we 
have." 

"  Never  mind,"  put  in  Mrs.  Payte,  encouragingly  ;  "  you 
may  be  rich  enough  some  day,  so  it  is  worth  while  running; 
short  now.  Have  you  heard  anything  lately  from  Lady 
Lawrence  ?  " 

"Yes,"  cried  Phoebe,  eagerly  ;  "she  is  to  be  in  England 
before  Christmas,  and  we  are  all  to  meet  her  in  London. 
She  is  preparing  now  to  leave  Calcutta." 

"  That's  right,"  remarked  Mrs.  Payte,  with  an  air  of  real 
anticipation.  "I've  a  great  wish  to  see  this  sister  of  old 
MyddeUon's,  and  I  may  have  a  chance,  if  she  comes  to 
England.  I  like  to  come  across  a  thoroughly  wicked  old 
woman." 

"  Is  Lady  Lawrence  a  thoroughly  wicked  old  woman  ?  " 
inquired  Honor,  laughing. 

"  Of  course,  being  old  Myddelton's  sister  and  Gabriel's 
aunt.  But  you  girls  mustn't  think  of  that.  You  must 
look  upon  her  as  a  goddess  or  angel,  whichever  you  like. 
Remember,  she  has  a  million  to  will  away,  as  well  as  landed 
estates  and  princely  incomes.  You  write  affecti'mate 
epistles  to  her,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  write  every  month,"  said  Phoebe  ;  "  we  all  do.  I  dare 
Bay  the  Trents  write  oftcner,  and  I  am  sure  Lawrence  does, 
but  she  never  writes  back,  though  she  sent  us  her  picture. 
She's  a  very  grand  and  clever-looking  person,  enormously 
e  tout,  and  with  smooth,  dark  hair." 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  67 

"Mean  people  are  always  stout  and  clever,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Payte,  sententiously.  "  Do  you  write  to  her,  Honor  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  lately,"  the  girl  aoswered,  her  eyes  far  off 
upon  the  horseman  coming  slowly  along  the  turnpike  road 
towards  Kinbury.  "  I  did  when  I  was  a  child,  just  as  the 
others  do,  for  Lawrence  ordered  it,  but  I  don't  now." 

"  A  bad  result  of  being  your  own  mistress,"  grumbled 
Mrs.  Payte.  "  Why  was  it  ?  " 

"  She  never  answered  our  letters,"  Honor  said.  "  She  did 
not  care  for  us  ;  so  how  can  we  care  for  her  ?  " 

"  The  others  do,  don't  they  ?  " 

Phoebe  laughed.  "  Care  for  her  ?  why,  of  course  not,  Mrs. 
Payte.  We're  only  trying  to  make  ourselves  agreeable  to  her." 

"  To  be  sure — that's  what  I  mean.  Most  natural  it  is, 
and  Honor  should  not  hold  herself  aloof.  Well,  it  isn't  too 
late  yet,  that's  one  good  thing.  Take  my  advice,  and  write 
her  a  long,  flattering,  fond  letter.  Don't  think  about 
whether  you  really  love  her  or  not — that's  not  the  question. 
She  has  money  to  leave  to  some  of  you,  and,  without  caring 
a  button  about  her,  you  may  ingratiate  yourselves.  Young 
people  seldom  care  much  in  reality  about  old  women,  and  a 
Jittle  pretence  is  fair  enough  in  such  a  case  as  this." 

"  That's  what  I  say,  and  all  of  us,"  assented  Phoebe,  with 
a  ready  burst  of  heavy  laughter,  "  all  but  Honor." 

"  All  the  same,  Honor  must  own  it's  true,  if  she  has  any 
honesty  at  all,"  persisted  the  old  lady,  taking  off  her  hat  for 
a  moment  to  smooth  her  small  gray  curls,  and  looking,  the 
while,  into  Honor's  faoe  with  ironical  scrutiny. 

"  No  ;  I  do  not  own  it,  Mrs.  Payte,"  the  girl  said,  shaking 
her  head  with  her  pretty,  gentle  smile.  "  I  do  not  own  that 
pretence  is  fair,  and  I  do  not  own  that  young  people  do  not 
care  for  old  women." 

"  Well,  I've  seen  more  than  you  have,  and  I've  a  right  to 
Bay  it.  Who  is  this  ?  " 

The  abrupt  question  made  the  invalid  start,  and  Honor 
looked  round  to  see  the  cause  of  it.  At  the  cottage  gate 
etood  the  horseman,  whom,  a  few  moments  ago,  she  had  been 
watching.  He  dismounted,  fastened  his  horse  to  the  gate, 
end  then  walked  leisurely  down  the  narrow  path,  three  dogs 
following  closely  at  his  heels,  evidently  aware  that  they  were 
not  to  go  beyond  the  little  box-border. 


68  OI.IJ   MTDDELTON'S   MU.VEY. 


"You've  "been  riding  a  long  way,  Mr.  Keith,"  began  Mrs. 
Payte,  with  her  usual  abruptness,  when  he  offered  his  hand. 

"  Forty  miles  at  least  since  daybreak,"  was  the  brief  reply. 
But  Mrs.  Payte,  without  exactly  knowing  why,  considered 
it  a  stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  further  questioning. 
She  went  through  an  elaborate  ceremony  in  her  introduction 
of  Phoebe,  and  turned  to  repeat  it  for  Honor's  benefit  ;  but, 
to  her  surprise,  she  found  Mr.  Keith  and  Honor  shaking  hands. 

One  minute  afterwards  Honor  had  slipped  away.  Feeling 
that  her  presence  would  not  be  missed  just  then,  she  went  to 
perform  one  errand  on  which  her  mind  was  bent,  and  which 
5he  always  did  perform  in  her  visits  to  East  Cottage. 
Hurrying  round  to  the  back-door,  she  entered  a  small 
kitchen,  neat  but  barely  furnished,  in  which  a  young  woman 
sat  sewing  near  the  lattice  window,  a  heavy  pair  of  crutches 
beside  her  chair. 

"Alone,  Marie  ?"  questioned  Honor,  coming  softly  up  to 
the  chair  and  leaning  over  it. 

"  Yes,  alone,  Miss  Craven,"  said  the  sick  girl,  her  pale 
face  brightening  unspeakably  as  she  raisc-d  it  to  the  beautiful 
one  above  her.  "The  lady's  servant  is  sitting  in  the  front 
kitchen  ;  she  always  does.  She  says  this  one  feels  like  a 
well,  and  —  and,  as  they  pay  for  it,  she  has  the  right  to  sit 
there." 

"And  have  you  given  up  the  right  to  sit  there  too, 
Marie  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Miss  Craven  ;  they  pay  for  those  rooms.  But 
I  do  very  well  here." 

"  Marie,  you  remember  telling  me  that  you  thought  you 
could  get  a  little  money  by  designing  for  woolwork,  but 
could  only  do  it  by  working  the  pattern,  not  by  drawing. 
Well,  see  here." 

The  parcel  was  brought  from  Honor's  pocket,  and  the  two 
girls'  heads  bent  over  its  contents  —  the  beautiful  face  whose 
suffering  was  all  to  come,  and  the  worn  one  whose  bitterest 
luffering  was  past. 

For  nearly  half  an  hour  Honor  Craven  eat  in  the  littlf 
pack-kitchen,  cheering,  by  that  half-hour,  the  girl's  whole 
day,  and  giving  her  pleasant  thoughts  and  memories  to  last 
her  till  the  next  time  the  bright  voice  should  greet  her  from 
the  open  doorway.  Then  she  rose  to  go. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  69 

"  1  am  coming  here  oftener  now,  Marie,"  she  said,  giving 
her  gentle  little  hand  to  the  lame  girl,  as  she  would  have 
done  to  any  lady  in  the  laud.  "  I  suppose  your  father  will 
soon  be  in.  You  will  not  be  alone  much  longer.  How  ia 
ne  getting  on,  Marie?" 

"About  the  same,  Miss  Craven,"  replied  the  girl,  feeling 
the  reality  of  Honor's  interest.  "He  has  an  order  for  the 
photograph  at  Abbotsmoor  on  Thursday,  but  he  took  only 
one  likeness  yesterday,  and  his  room  in  Kiubury  is  expensive. 
Poor  father!" 

"Oh,  he  will  soon  get  better  now,  Marie;  never  fear.  I'm 
so  glad  it  is  he  who  is  to  take  us  at  Abbotsmoor." 

"  It  is  through  Sir  Philip  Somerson.  I  do  not  think  Mrs. 
Trent  would  ever  have  thought  of  it.  And  father  says  Mr. 
Keith  has  ordered  a  picture,  but  whether  that's  through  Sir 
Philip  or  not,  he  doesn't  know." 

It  was  of  the  old  photographer  that  they  were  talking 
,n  the  garden,  when  Honor  joined  them  again,  and  found 
Royden  Keith  leaning  against  the  open  window  beside  which 
Mrs.  Disbrowe  lay,  and  Mrs.  Payte  and  Phoebe  sitting  on 
the  garden-seat  without. 

"  It  is  a  stupid  idea  altogether,  I  think,"  the  little  old 
lady  was  saying  when  Honor  came  quietly  up  and  stood 
among  them.  "  How  can  you  have  the  picture  complete 
without  having  Gabriel  Myddelton  in  it,  and  who  would  care 
for  a  picture  where  he  figured  ?  Rubbish  altogether,  I  cal 
it,  and  Lady  Lawrence  is  a  senseless  old  woman  to  want  it." 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  possible,"  said  Royden,  with  the 
flash  of  keen  amusement  which  sometimes  shone  so  swiftly 
in  his  steadfast,  handsome  eyes,  "  for  Verrien  to  copy  Gabriel 
Myddelton's  picture  first,  and  then  arrange  the  head  among 
the  others,  that  the  photograph  might  include  him  too." 

"  None  of  the  others  would  sit  in  that  case,"  observed 
Mrs.  Payte,  tersely. 

"  Why  ?  Cowardice  was  his  inheritance,  not  an  acquired 
fault.  What  is  your  crest,  Miss  Craven  ? 

"  A  pair  of  heels,"  said  Honor,  smiling  a  little  at  her  own 
inexplicable  blush,  "and  the  motto  below  is  from  the 
Musarum  Dtlicm.  You  know  the  lines — 

*'  He  that  fights  and  runs  away, 
May  live  to  tight  another  day  ! '' 


70  OLD   MYUUELTON'S  MONST. 

"The  inheritance  of  cowardice,"  said  Royden, 
into  her  eyes.  "  And  Gabriel's  mother  was  a  Craven.  YWit 
is  the  legend  of  the  crest  ?  " 

"  Our  earliest  ancestor,"  said  Honor,  "  once  engaged  in 
single  combat,  and  when  he  found  the  fight  going  against 
him,  saved  his  life  iu  a  paltry  manner  by  crying  '  Craven  ' 
before  the  sun  went  down.  Knights  were  allowed  in  those 
days  to  end  the  fight  so,  to  their  dishonour." 

"  I  call  it  a  wise  and  prudent  measure  too,"  said  Hoyden, 
as  he  turned  to  the  sick  lady  within  the  room  ;  "  there  are 
worse  crimes  in  the  world  than  crying  '  Craven  '  before  the 
Bun  goes  down.  Don't  you  think  so,  Mrs.  Disbrowe  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  she  answered,  gently  smiling  as  she  met 
his  gaze.  ("  It  is  a  gaze  I  like  to  meet,"  she  said  to  Mr?. 
Payte  only  that  very  morning,  ae  they  talked  of  Royden 
Keith.)  "I  wish  I  thought  that  was  poor  young  Myddel- 
ton's  only  sin." 

"  He  was  a  Myddelton.  How  could  you  expect  him  to 
be  other  than  what  he  proved  himself?''  interrupted  Mrs. 
Pane,  contemptuously.  "  If  he  ever  could  turn  out  a  good 
man,  it  would  be  now  that  he  has  forfeited  his  name  and  his 
riches.  The  hope  of  stepping  into  such  a  fortune  has  made 
others  sin  besides  Gabriel  Myddelton,  and  is  making  others 
sin,  and  will  make  others  sin  ;  and  the  possession  of  such 
wealth  would  spoil  many  a  man,  and  woman  too.  It  is 
beyond  my  power  to  imagine  whom  it  would  not  spoil." 

The  sharp  eyes  under  the  broad  hat  went  from  Honor's 
face  to  Phoebe's  and  back  again  to  Honor's,  Mr.  Keith 
following  their  gaze,  still  leaning  idly  there  against  th« 
window,  with  the  three  dogs  waitiug  at  his  feet. 

It  was  the  little  old  lady  herself  who  broke  the  pause 
which  followed  her  last  words. 

"  I  have  a  great  wish  to  go  to  Abbotsmoor.  I  suppose  I 
must  pocket  my  pride  and  ask  for  an  invitation." 

"  Will  you  go  in  my  place,  Mrs.  Payte,"  cried  Honor,  im- 
pulsively, "  and  let  me  stay  with  Mrs.  Disbrowe  ?  " 

"Now,  Honor,  how  can  you  be  so  silly?"  explained 
Phoebe.  "  You  know  how  angry  Lawrence  would  be." 

"  Will  you,"  said  Royden,  turning  his  eyes  quickly  from 
Honor's  vexed  face,  "let  me  drive  yon  there,  Mrs.  Payte  ? 
I  am  invited  tc  bring  a  frieiid  ;  please  to  be  that  friend." 


OLD   MYDDELTON'8  MONEY.  71 

There  was  a  little  blunt  demurring,  but  it  was  arranged 
nevertheless,  and  the  old  lady  seemed  as  well  contented  at* 
she  ever  seemed  about  anything. 

They  chatted  a  little  longer,  and  then  Royden  prepared  to  go. 

"  What  a  beautiful  fellow  this  greyhound  is ! "  said 
Honor,  laying  her  hand  lightly  on  the  glossy,  dun-coloured 
head.  "  What  is  his  name,  Mr.  Keith  ?  " 

"  Lachne,"  he  answered,  as  he  ollered  her  his  hand  ;  "that 
means  the  glossy-coated  :  and  this  little  terrier  is  Leucos, 
which  means  grey ;  and  this  spaniel,  Labro,  which  means  furi- 
ous. Can  you  remember  after  whose  dogs  mine  are  named  ?  " 

"  Yes— Actason's,"  she  answered.    "  Have  you  fifty  ?  " 

"  Only  these  three  now,"  he  said,  rather  gravely  ;  "  trusty 
old  friends,  whom  I  have  had  with  me  many  years." 

"  And  from  whom  you  would  not  like  to  part,  especially 
this  beautiful  greyhound  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  do  not  know  what  would  tempt  me  voluntarily  to 
part  with  Lachne." 

From  East  Cottage,  Royden  Keith  rode  on  to  Kinbury, 
and,  dismounting  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  gave  his  horse 
to  his  groom. 

"  She  is  tired  enough,"  he  said  ;  "  take  her  in,  Edwards, 
and  bring  me  round  Robin  Hood  in  half-an-hour's  time." 

"  Saddled,  sir  ? "  inquired  the  groom,  betraying  a  little 
of  his  astonishment ;  for  had  not  his  master  been  in  the 
saddle  almost  since  daybreak  ? 

"Saddled,  of  course,"  returned  Royden,  as  he  mounted 
the  hotel  steps. 

"  I  did  not  expect  you  back  so  soon,  sir,"  said  Pierce,  fol- 
lowing Mr.  Keith  to  his  private  sitting-room  ;  "you  ordered 
dinner  at  eight.  Will  you  lunch  so  late  as  this,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  lunched  three  hours  ago,"  said  Royden,  as  he  took  his 
letters  from  the  chimney-piece,  with  his  back  to  the  valet, 
who  seemed  stirred  a  little  from  his  usual  middle-aged 
gravity.  "  I  lunched  at  The  Towers.  Send  me  a  glass  of 
wine,  that  is  all." 

Following  the  waiter,  who,  with  the  mathematical  preci- 
sion of  waiters,  set  the  wine  and  biscuits  before  Mr.  Keith, 
came  Pierce  once  more  into  his  master's  presence. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  making  a  show  of  re- 
moving the  things,  "but  are  all  well  at  The  Towers  ?" 


72  OLD  MYDDELTOX'S  MCCNET. 

"  All  well,  thank  you,  Pierce." 

"  And  everything  going  on  as  it  should  do,  «r — as  if  yon 
were  there  ?  " 

"  Just  as  it  would  if  we  were  there,"  amended  Roydeu, 
smiling  at  the  man's  real,  though  hidden,  earnestness. 

"  You  seemed  to  be  summoned  so  hurriedly,  sir,  I 
thought." 

"  Not  summoned  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Keith,  as  he  poured 
himself  a  glass  of  sherry. 

"  No  illness  of — the  lady's,  sir  ?  " 

"No." 

Royden  put  down  his  empty  glass  and  took  up  another 
letter.  The  servant  lingered  still,  but  the  solemn  decorum 
of  his  face  and  manner  hid  the  keen  and  anxious  interest  he 
felt  in  his  master's  answers. 

"  Leave  those,  Pierce,"  said  Royden,  looking  up  from  the 
paper  in  his  hand  ;  "  I  am  going  out  again  in  a  few 
minutes." 

"  Riding  again  this  evening,  sir  ?" 

u  Riding  again  this  evening — yes,"  he  answered,  smiling 
a  little  now.  "  But  I  am  only  going  round  the  Abbotsmoor 
woods,  and  shall  be  back  to  dinner.  Poor  Princess  is  tired 
out,  but  Robin  will  be  fresh  and  fleet." 

"  The  dogs  seem  tired  too,  sir,"  said  Pierce,  wondering  at 
the  run  their  master  had  given  them  that  day. 

"  Then  they  need  not  come  ;  they  shall  make  their  own 
ehoice.  N-o,"  mused  Royden,  slowly  tearing  the  letter  in 
bis  hand  ;  "  I  will  take  Lachne  only." 

Pierce  looked  in  vain  for  any  apparent  reason  for  this 
change  of  purpose. 

"To  save  trouble,  I  suppose,"  he  thought.  "There's 
always  a  scene  if  he  tries  to  leave  the  greyhound  behind." 

So  Royden  Keith,  ten  minutes  afterwards,  rode  from 
Kinbury  to  find  the  answer  to  that  doubt  he  had  expressed 
^t  East  Cottage — 

"  I  do  not  know  what  would  tempt  me  voluntarily  to  part 
with  Lachne." 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONK*.  73 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Count  is  neither  sad,  nor  sick,  nor  merry,  nor  well ;  hut 
civil,  Count;  civil  as  an  orange,  and  something  of  that  jealouf 
complexion.  Much  Ado  about  Nothing. 

MRS.  PAYTE  stood  with  the  girls  at  the  gate  of  East  Cot. 
tage,  watching  Royden  as  he  rode  away. 

"  Do  you  like  him,  Phoebe  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 

"  He  is  very  handsome,"  Phoebe  acknowledged,  in  a  tone 
of  praise  as  warm  as  she  ever  bestowed  on  anyone  save  her 
guardian. 

"  He's  not  a  man  to  go  through  life  with  his  hands 
folded,"  remarked  the  old  lady  tersely.  "  Honor,  why  are 
you  staring  up  the  road  ?  You  won't  call  him  handsome,  I 
know — not  you.  Unless  a  man  has  languishing  manners 
like  Captain  Trent's,  and  can  look  at  you  lackadaisically 
under  his  eyelids,  and  talk  in  a  lazy  whisper,  you  haven't 
much  to  say  in  his  favour.  Ah,  I  see  why  you  were  staring ; 
here  they  come  !  Sound  the  trumpet,  beat  the  drum  !  What 
a  delightful  conjunction  !  They  remind  me  of  Prior  and 
Swift,  who  used  to  walk  round  the  parks  together — Prior  to 
make  himself  fat ;  Swift  to  keep  himself  lean." 

Honor's  eyes  had  to  come  back  from  their  distant  gaze  to 
see  the  two  advancing  figures,  and  then  she  turned  to  Phoebe 
with  a  smile. 

"  I  declare  I  did  not  know,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  that 
Lawrence  Haughton  and  Hervey  Trent  were  such  close 
friends.  What  bond  of  union  lies  between  them  ?  " 

"  It  must  have  been  Hervey  who  joined  Lawrence  on  the 
road,"  suggested  Phoebe,  "for  I'm  sure  Lawrence  would  not 
overtake  and  join  Hervey  of  his  own  accord." 

"And  pray  why  not?"  inquired  Mrs.  Payte,  sharply. 
"Would  not  Mr.  Haughton  like  to  be  the  means  of  benefit- 
ing a  young  man  whose  mind  is  peculiarly  alive  to  good 
influences  ?  " 

Phoebe  looked  into  the  old  lady's  face,  astonished,  but 
never  for  more  than  a  minute  at  a  time  did  she  trouble  her- 
t-  If  to  study  Mrs.  Payte's  moods. 

Tne  gentlemen  came  up  to  the  gate  inpfc  then,  and 
with  a  look  of  pleasure  tu  \veii  as  surprise  :  buo 


74  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

after  that  first  moment,  Honor  could  see  that  Lawrence  fros 
in  one  of  his  moods  of  smothered  ill-humour. 

"  Walking  home,  are  you  ?  "  said  the  old  lady,  her  shrewd 
glance  impeded  by  the  brim  of  her  ugly  brown  hat.  "  What 
enterprise  !  But  I  must  stop  you  here.  Look  upon  East 
Cottage  as  a  half-way  house — the  travellers' rest — and  when 
you  leave,  I  will  let  you  take  your  wards  with  you,  Mr. 
Hau^hton.  Now,  Horvor,  run  and  order  the  tea-table  to  be 
brought  out." 

There  was  no  hesitation  in  Hervey's  mind  about  accepting 
the  invitation,  and,  though  Lawrence  paused  for  a  moment, 
he  did  not  refuse. 

"  I  like  to  have  young  people  round  me,"  observed  Mrs. 
Payte,  particularly  addressing  Hervey,  as  he  threw  himself 
languidly  on  the  garden  seat ;  "  it  gives  me  life  and  vigour. 
As  one  grows  old  and  feeble,  one  likes  to  study  enviously 
the  strength  and  energy  ef  youth." 

"  Does  one,  Mrs.  Payte  ? "  inquired  Captain  Hervey, 
politely,  as  his  lazy  eyes  rested  on  the  small,  wiry  form 
before  him.  "  I  should  have  thought  it  would  have  bored 
one." 

"  Mr.  Haughton,  you  must  not  bring  your  business  face 
here,  please  ;  we  do  not  want  to  make  our  wills,  or  draw  up 
our  marriage  settlements — quite  yet.  We  only  want  to 
fritter  away  an  hour  in  nonsensical  tea-drinking.  Stupid, 
don't  you  think  ?  " 

"  One  wasted  hour  cannot  signify  very  much,"  the  lawyer 
answered  indifferently. 

"  Perhaps  not,  only  the  difficulty  to  me  is  to  determine 
which  of  our  hours  are  wasted.  Now,  Selina  ?  " 

Mrs.  Disbrowe  rose  from  her  seat  in  the  window,  for 
Honor  had  come  for  her,  and  had  brought  Hervey  to  carry 
the  easy-chair.  Mrs,  Payte  stopped  in  her  own  occupation 
to  watch  this  proceeding,  but  afterwards  made  up  for  the 
lost  time  by  extra  snapping. 

"  She  says  she  likes  to  have  young  people  about,"  fretted 
Miss  Owen  aside  to  her  cousin  ;  "  if  so,  why  is  she  so  cross  ?  * 

"Now,  girls,"  cried  the  little  old  lady  from  her  seat,  "  we 
are  waiting  for  you.  Go  to  your  separate  trays — Honor  10 
the  coffee,  and  you,  Phoebe,  to  the  tea.  There  will  be  a 
knight  for  each  of  you." 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  75 

Mrs.  Payte  leaned  back  in  her  seat  after  this  speech,  and 
waited  for  the  division  of  labour,  watching  almost  as  if  she 
had  an  interest  in  it  beyond  what  Theodora  Trent  called  her 
**  an  warrantable  interference  in  everything." 

"  llervey,"  said  Honor,  simply,  "  will  you  please  to  war 
upon  me  ?  " 

The  sharp  eyes  of  the  brown  hat  went  swiftly  np  to 
Lawrence  Haughton's  faco,  and  the  thin  lips  of 'this  cross 
old  lady  stirred  just  a  little  at  the  corners. 

"  Mr.  Hanghton,  I  patronise  your  end  of  the  table,  and 
Phoebe's  tea.  I  look  upon  coffee  as  a  lingering  poison  for  a 
bilious  constitution  like  mine.  Your  vaunted  air  has  done 
me  no  good  so  far." 

Honor  glanced  at  the  real  invalid,  who  never  spoke  of  her 
ailments,  and  grew  even  more  gentle  in  her  attentions. 

"  Hervey,"  she  said,  "  did  not  Mrs.  Trent  tell  us  last 
night  that  Lady  Lawrence  said  Kinbury  air  would  kill  her  ? " 

"  I  dare  say,"  assented  Hervey,  languidly.  "  I  rarely 
recollect  what  she  says." 

"  In  that  particular  matter,  Lady  Lawrence's  opinion  en- 
tirely coincides  with  mine,  then,"  said  the  old  lady,  smiling 
graciously,  in  answer  to  Hervey's  words,  "  though  in  other 
respects  I  fail  to  learn  any  good  of  her.  You  are  more 
privileged,  I  presume  ;  you  are  sure  to  hear  the  best  points 
of  her  character." 

"  Then  I  should  like  to  be  told  which  are  the  worst," 
vbserved  Mr.  Haughton,  bluntly. 

"I  suppose,  Mr.  Haughton,"  mused  the  old  lady,  as  she 
sipped  her  tea,  "  that  it  is  you  who  have  the  greater  chance 
of  her  favour ;  you  are  so  clever,  and  so  well  understand  the 
ralue  of  money." 

"  It  would  be  rather  a  dangerous  thing  for  you,  Law- 
rence," said  Honor,  when  he  turned  to  her.  "  Don't  you 
remember  Little,  the  miser  ?  He  saved  forty  thousand 
pounds,  and  when  at  last  the  doctor  told  him  he  must  spend 
a  little  and  take  wine,  he  died  in  the  act  of  drawing  the  first 
cork.  How  much  better  it  would  have  been  if  he'd  gone  OD 
saving,  and  left  the  wine  alone  !  " 

"You  are  a  ridiculous  child,"  snapped  Mrs,,  Pavte.  "  Mr. 
Haughton,  wii1  you  kindly  bring  me  another  cup  01  tea  froa 


76  OLD   MYUDELTON'S   MONEY. 

Phoebe  had  been  gazing  regretfully  into  his  angry  face, 
and  perhaps  the  little  old  lady  had  noticed  this.  When  tea 
«vas  over,  and  Honor  was  again  enlisting  Hervey's  aid  for  th? 
invalid,  Mrs.  Payte  managed  to  keep  Lawrence  on  the  seat 
beside  ner.  Phoebe  hovered  about  for  a  time,  but  she  was 
so  very  coolly  and  persistently  kept  at  arm's  length  that  she 
was  obliged  to  fall  back  and  join  Honor  and  Mrs.Disbrowe 
in  the  sitting-room. 

"  Captain  Trent  is  exerting  himself  unusually,"  observed 
Mrs.  Payte.  "  I  suppose  he  will  exert  himself  sufficient!} 
to  marry." 

•'  I  suppose  so." 

"  Theodora  Trent  will  make  him  an  excellent  wife,"  she 
continued,  pushing  her  hat  back  a  little,  and  smoothing  her 
tiny  gray  curls,  "and&  stylish  wife,  which  is  all- import  ant. 
That  being  the  case,  and  their  marriage  a  settled  thing,  I 
don't  like  to  see  him  dancing  attendance — I  mean  saun- 
tering attendance — on  Honor  Craven." 

A  flame  of  fiercest  scarlet  rushed  into  Lawrence  Haugh- 
ton's  face. 

"And  I  am  afraid,"  resumed  the  old  lady,  placidly, 
that  the  day  of  Hervey's  marriage  will  be  a  heavy  day  for 
you.  I  have  heard  that  Miss  Trent  is  always  received  at 
The  Larches  with  open  arms." 

"  Pray  whose  arms  are  open  to  receive  her  ?  "  inquired 
Lawrence,  with  undisguised  scorn. 

"  Miss  Haugh ton's,  and,  they  say,  Mr.  Han gh ton's  too  ; 
though  he  would  not  confess  it  for  a  thousand  pounds." 

"  Why  should  I  lie  for  a  thousand  pounds  ?  " 

"  This  is  only  what  I  have  heard,"  explained  the  old  lady, 
apparently  anxious  to  impress  this  fact  upon  him ;  "you  will 
excuse  my  mentioning  it." 

He  bowed  a  sulky  acceptance  of  her  apology. 

"  There  h  no  preventing  idiotic  things  being  Baid,"  he 
muttered.  "  i  never  believe  a  word  I  hear." 

"  Nor  do  I,"  returned  the  old  lady,  "  not  a  word  ;  and  I 
know  that  some  day  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  offering 
my  congratulations  on  your  marriage  with  Phoebe — a  nice 
lively  girl,  with  plenty  of  smiles  and  agreeable  sayings.  I 
suppose,  in  the  event  of  your  inheriting  old  Myddelton'i 
money,  you  would  sell  your  practice,  Mr.  Haughton  ?  " 


MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  11 

"Yes." 

Mrs.  Payte  had  just  answered  by  a  smile  full  of  sym- 
pathy, when  the  garden  g^te  swung  upon  its  hinges,  and  • 
cheery  voice  saluted  th^  party. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Romer,"  called  Mrs.  Payte,  in 
her  brisk,  shrill  tones,  "  for  my  young  visitors  were  just 
leaving  me." 

The  Reverend  "Walter  Romer,  Rector  of  Statton  (the 
village  to  which  Deergrove  and  The  Larches  and  East 
Cottage  belonged),  was  a  cordial,  heart  void  gentleman,  who 
equally  enjoyed  tending  his  spiritual  flock  and  farming  his 
arable  land  ;  a  practical  farmer  as  well  as  a  practical 
Christian  ;  a  man  with  a  clear  business  head  and  a  warm, 
unselfish  heart ;  a  man  at  once  shrewd  and  frank  ;  at  once 
provident  and  generous ;  worldly  in  just  those  varied  senses  of 
the  world  in  which  it  is  safe  fora  good  and  upright  pastor  to  be 
worldly,  while  this  is  the  world  in  which  his  help  is  needed. 

"  I  understood  from  my  old  clerk,"  he  said,  after  his  warm 
greeting  all  round,  "  that  Mr.  Keith  was  here." 

"  He  only  stopped  for  a  few  minutes  as  he  rode  past,"  ex- 
plained Mrs.  Payte,  while  more  than  one  present  noticed 
the  frown  gathering  on  Lawrence  Haughton's  hrow.  "  What 
do  you  want  with  him,  Mr.  Romer  ?  Wasn't  he  at  church 
last  Sunday  ?  " 

"Probably  somewhere,"  returned  the  Rector,  laughing, 
"listening  to  a  better  fellow  than  myself.  No  ;  the  fact  is, 
he  was  to  have  come  out  to-day  for  some  fishing,  and  I 
wanted  to  ask  what  had  prevented  him.  There  was  a  freshet 
this  morning  of  a  couple  of  feet  down  the  river,  and  l'io 
vexed  he  missed  his  spott." 

"Are  you?"  questioned  Mrs.  Payte,  in  her  quickest 
tones.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  now,  Mr.  Romer,  that  you 
understand  that  man  ? " 

*'  Well,  he  emphatically  does  not  wear  his  heart  upon  hia 
sleeve.  And  yet  I  think — " 

"  What,  Mr.  Romer  ?  " 

It  was  Honor  who  put  in  the  question  gently,  when  he 
paused. 

"  That  there  is  no  inconsistency  in  his  wearing  the  motto 
which  belongs  to  his  branch  of  the  Keith  family — /  oivn  n6 
nobility  but  the  soul — nobility  enough,  ch,  Miss  Honor  ?  " 


78  OLD  MYDD  ELTON'S  MONET. 

"Excuse  me,"  pat  in  the  lawyer,  chillily,  "but  how  have 
von  discovered  his  branch  of  the  family,  if,  as  you  insinuate, 
he  is  a  man  who  rigidly  guards  his  own  secrets  ?  " 

"Ah,  you  know  him,  I  see,  Haughton,"  smiled  th<» 
Rector,  "  for  that  is  his  nature,  and  yet  I  did  not  assert  it 
My  important  discovery  was  made  by  very  simple  me-ins — 
I  read  the  motto  on  his  seal.  Well,  and  how  is  the  garden 
going  OD,  Mrs.  Payte  ?" 

"  Every  ripe  apple  gets  stolen  before  I'm  down  in  the 
morning." 

"  It  is  too  bad,"  said  the  Eector,  suppressing  his  laugh 
at  the  complaint  for  which  he  had  been  thoroughly  pre- 
pared. "  Everything  always  goes  wrong  with  the  garden, 
doesn't  it,  Mrs.  Payte  ?  The  hens  used  to  dig  up  the  seeds, 
and  eat  the  currants  as  they  came." 

"  Every  one,"  assented  the  little  lady,  promptly  ;  "  though 
I  wrapped  each  bush  in  muslin  like  a  ghost." 

"  And  the  birds  ate  all  the  cherries,"  continued  the 
Eector,  sympathisingly. 

"  Every  cherry.  The  little  thieves  would  come  rushing 
out  of  the  tree  in  my  very  face — whole  regiments  and 
boarding-schools.  Yet  look  at  Selina,  throwing  crumbs  to 
them  at  this  very  moment,  to  defy  me.  A  nice  set  they 
are  to  encourage — savage,  selfish  little  creatures.  You  once 
watch  them  when  you  feed  them,  and  I  dare  vow  you'll 
never  feed  them  again.  A  father  will  hop  off  with  the 
family  dinner  from  under  the  very  nose  of  his  hungry  wife 
and  children,  and  a  grown-up  daughter  will  snatch  the 
bread  and  butter  from  between  her  old  mother's  very  teeth. 
Bah  !  a  nice  race  they  are  to  befriend." 

The  Rector  turned  away  to  hide  his  laugh,  wondering 
how  any  one  who  grumbled  so  persistently  at  everything 
tinder  the  sun  could  yet  take  such  a  keen,  unwavering 
interest  in  the  afl'airs  of  others. 

"  I  must  go  in  now,"  he  said,  "  to  have  a  chat  with  Mrs. 
Disbrowe,  and  then  to  see  Marie,  poor  girl !  I  shall  over 
take  you  young  people  presently.  What  do  you  think  of 
the  weather,  Haughton  ?  Don't  the  clouds  form  rather  too 
high  ?  Yon  smile  at  my  anxiety,  but  if  you'd  a  sprinkling 
of  bank-notes  lying  out  in  a  field,  bound  to  lie  there  for  a 
certain  time,  you  would  not  relish  the  idea  of  rain  and  \\  ind," 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  7S 

"Even  without  that  simile,  I  understand  your  anxiety 
about  your  harvest,  Mr.  Eomer,"  said  Lawrence,  coldly,  as 
he  stood  at  the  gate  waiting  for  Honor  to  return  from 
bidding  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Disbrowe. 

But  when  she  came,  all  his  scientific  arrangements  wer* 
knocked  on  the  head.  At  the  very  last  moment  Hervey 
forestalled  him,  and  took  his  place  at  Honor's  side,  as  he 
could  not  have  done  if  the  girl  herself  had  not  purposely 
aided  his  design.  But  to  walk  apart  with  Phoebe,  as  Honor 
evidently  had  intended  him  to  do,  was  an  alternative  which 
Lawrence  Haughton  did  not  for  an  instant  entertain  ;  he 
sauntered  up  to  Honor's  right,  as  Hervey  staunchly  kept  his 
position  on  her  left,  and  walked  so,  dropping  now  and  then 
a  crumb  of  conversation  to  Phoebe  at  his  right  hand,  but 
chiefly  watching  surreptitiously  the  face  upon  his  left,  until 
the  Rector  overtook  them,  and  with  frank  diplomacy,  soon 
established  himself  in  Lawrence  Haughton's  place  beside  his 
favourite.  Then  Phoebe's  guardian  fell  moodily  back  beside 
her,  and  entertained  her  on  the  way  home  with  blunt  mono- 
syllables only. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  girl,  when  she  had  exhausted  all  her 
lively  subjects  of  conversation,  and  still  ransacked  her  brain 
for  more,  under  the  delusion  that  she  was  amusing  her  com- 
panion, "that  Hervey  Trent  would  rather  be  with  Honor  than 
with  Theodora  ;  and  I  think  Honor  likes  him  very  much." 
Rubbish  !  She  is  always  laughing  at  him." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  granted  Phcebe,  unwillingly  ;  "but  then 
that  is  all  good -tempe redly  done  and  he  does  not  mind  a 
bit,  although  he  always  does  lecture  her  when  Mrs.  Trenf 
and  Theodora  are  by.  I  don't  know  why  they  should  go  on 
in  that  way,  nor  how  Honor  can  ever  choose  to  walk  with 
him,  when  she  might  walk  with  you,  Lawrence." 

If  Phoebe  had  had  any  idea  of  the  storm  she  had  invoked, 
she  would  not  have  tripped  quite  so  happily  past  her  guardian 
when  she  reached  The  Larches  at  last  ;  but  Phoebe  Owen 
was  not  gifted  with  the  power  of  seeing  below  the  surface  in 
any  single  matter  whatever. 

Lawrence  was  ill — that  fact  appeared  to  be  patent  to  Miss 
ITaughton  the  moment  she  met  her  brother  in  the  hall,  a^ 
the  invariably  did  j  and  Lawrence  apparently  found  it  iesa 
to  assent  to  this  thau  to  cieai  bis  gloomy  brow, 


CO  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

shake  off  the  sullen  silence  which  pressed  upon  him .  Nothing 
at  dinner  pleased  him,  and  nothing  that  was  said  elicited  a 
smile,  or  even  an  amiable  word. 

"You  are  very  poorly,  lam  afraid,  Lawrence,"  fretted  Jane 
pathetically;  "I  knew  it  would  be  BO  this  morning  when 
you  took  those  mushrooms." 

"  It  is  your  head,  Lawrence,  I  can  see,"  said  Phoebe, 
softly;  "I  will  fetch  my  eau-de-cologne." 

"Nonsense!"  cried  Jane,  authoritatively.  "It  is  not  the 
head,  and  I  know  what  will  do  him  more  good." 

But  Phoebe  had  rushed  off  for  her  scent-bottle. 

"Foolish  girl,"  muttered  Jane,  following  her  stiffly;  "as 
if  I  did  not  know  best  what  is  the  matter  with  my  own 
brother!" 

"You  never  offer  scent,  or  stimulant,  or  sympathy, 
Honor,"  said  Lawrence,  when  they  two  were  left  ;  and  now 
his  tone,  though  vexed,  was  neither  rough  nor  sullen.  "Why 
don't  you  tell  me  what  is  the  matter — as  they  do  ?  " 

"  Don't  they  remind  you,"  asked  Honor,  as  she  took  a 
rosebud  from  one  of  the  vases  on  the  table,  "of  the  shoemaker 
in  The  Relapse,  who  told  Lord  Popping  ton  that  he  was  mis- 
taken in  supposing  his  shoe  pinched  him  ?" 

Lawrence  laughed  as  if  he  had  not  been  poorly. 

"There  is  no  deceiving  those  beautiful  eyes  of  yours,"  he 
said.  "Give  me  that  rosebud  ;  pin  it  in  my  coat  yourself, 
and  that  will  cure  me." 

But  with  the  utmost  care  and  deliberation  she  fastened  it 
in  her  dress. 

"  There  Lawrence,  just  drink  this,  and  you'll  be  all  right." 
said  Jane,  entering  fussily  with  some  mixture  in  a  glass. 
**  You  ought  to  have  come  home  early  and  nursed  yourself; 
you  are  so  neglectful  of  your  health." 

"I've  read  somewhere,"  rem;irked  Honor,  sedately,  "of 
a  young  captain  of  Marines,  who  was  shot  in  the  arm  in 
battle,  and  when  he  asked  permission  to  go  below  to  have  it 
amputated,  he  apologised  for  leaving  action  for  'such  a 
trivial  occasion' ;  he  was  like  Lawrence." 

"Exactly,''  assented  Jane  and  Phoebe  in  a  breath,  having 
heard  the  words,  but  being  in  much  too  great  a  fuss  to  notige 
the  tone. 

"  For  pity's  sake,  sit  down,  both  of  you  !  "  cried  Law- 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  fcl 

rence,  in  sudden,  inexplicable  anger.  "Take  these  womanish 

condiments  away." 

*  *    '        *  *  *  *  * 

Captain  Hervey  Trent,  all  unconscious  of  any  of  Mr. 
Haughton's  feelings  towards  him,  pursued  his  way  to  Deer- 
grove  that  evening,  in  a  state  of  placid  satisfaction,  chiefly 
with  himself,  but,  in  a  secondary  degree,  with  one  or  two 
other  people  ;  and  what  he  pondered  as  he  went,  was  be- 
trayed by  a  few  words  which  even  passed  his  lips  as  he  opened 
the  gate  at  Deergrove. 

"  I  hope  that  when  I  and  Theodora  are  married  and  set- 
tled here,  Honor  will  still  be  living  close  by  us — not  married 
to  Lawrence — detestable  idea,  that — but  still  living  there,  or 
equally  near  us.  I  shall  take  care  always  to  be  kind  to  her  ; 
she  is  troublesome,  of  course,  but  I  don't  object  to  taking  a 

little  trouble  for  her." 

******* 

When  her  visitors  had  all  left  East  Cottage,  Mrs.  Payte 
heaved  a  sigh  which  sounded  very  like  an  expression  of 
relief ;  but  still  it  was  with  her  usual  eager  briskness  that 
she  questioned  Mrs.  Disbrowe  on  various  speeches  which  she 
must  very  well  have  known  were  intended  only  for  that  lady's 
private  ear. 

"  I  guessed  as  much,"  she  ejaculated,  as  complacently  as 
if  she  had  been  drinking  in  a  string  of  compliments.  "  I 
saw  that  Mr.  Haughton  was  out  of  temper  with  me,  and  that 
Captain  Trent  was  bored  to  death,  and  that  that  little 
Dutch-faced  girl  only  stayed  with  me  because  her  guardian 
did.  And  Honor  Craven  was  disgusted  with  all  I  said  to 
you." 

"  No  ! "  put  in  the  invalid  anxiously. 

"Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Payte,  with  that  shrewd  glance  of 
hers,  which  showed  how  hard  it  would  be  to  deceive  her. 
"  She  was  whispering  to  you  about  me  just  before  they 
went." 

"  She  only  said,"  answered  the  sick  lady,  with  a  smile  of 
pleasant  recollection,  "  she  thought  you  did  not  mean  )uut 
Words  to  be  hard  and  sharp,  as — I  said  they  were." 


82  OLD  MYUDKLTON'B  MONEY. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Fortune  brings  in  some  boats  that  are  not  sfcerad. 

LEAVING  Kinbury,  Royden  Keith  rode  along  the  high-road 
towards  Abbotsmoor  ;  past,  the  wall  that  skirted  the  park, 
and  past  the  high  hedge  bordering  the  wood.  Then  he 
turned  aside  into  a  lane  which  ran  at  right  angles  with  the 
highway  and  bordered  the  wood  on  the  other  side.  He  rode 
slowly  here,  not  only  because  the  lane  was  rough  and  deeply 
rutted,  and  Robin  Hood  of  his  own  accord  slackened  his 
dainty  steps,  but  apparently  because  Robin's  master  had  no 
Insh  to  hasten  now. 

He  had  ridden  about  a  mile  up  the  lane  when  he  drew 
bridle,  for  he  had  come  upon  a  solitary  cottage  just  at  a 
turning  in  the  lane.  The  walls  were  propped,  the  thatch 
torn,  and  the  windows  patched  with  paper,  but  a  curl  of  thin 
blue  smoke  from  the  broken  chimney  rose  against  the  dark 
background  of  the  Abbotsmoor  woods,  and  Royden,  seeing 
this,  dismounted  without  a  moment's  hesitation.  Fastening 
Robin  to  an  alder-lush  which  grew  beside  the  rickety  gar- 
den-gate, he  walked  up  to  the  door  of  this  desolate-looking 
little  dwelling,  and  knocked  upon  it  with  his  riding-whip. 

"  It  has  been  a  comfortable  dwelling,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  Can  all  the  cottages  on  the  Abbotsmoor  estate  have  been 
left  to  fall  to  ruin  when  they  would,  as  this  one  has  ?  " 

There  came  no  answer  to  his  knock,  but,  just  as  he  stepped 
back  to  assure  himself  again  of  the  presence  of  smoke  that 
should  betoken  human  occupation,  an  old  man  came  round 
the  corner  of  the  cottage,  with  a  spade  upon  his  shoulder. 
He  had  evidently  been  at  work  in  the  garden  behind,  and  so 
had  not  heard  Royden's  summons. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  inquired,  suspiciously. 

**  I  want  to  ask  you,"  said  Royden,  in  his  pleasant,  high- 
bred tones,  "  a  few  questions  about  this  cottage  and  its  late 
tenants.  If  you  will  answer  them  for  me,  I  shall  feel  very 
much  obliged  to  you." 

The  man  put  down  his  spade,  and  leaned  upon  it  as  he 
stood.  Royden,  resting  his  arm  upon  the  branch  of  a 
stunted  apple-tree,  looked  towards  the  cottage  door  as  if  hQ 


OLD  MYPDEI.TON'R  MONET,  9$ 

would  rather  have  gone  within,  gloomy  and  desolate  as  th« 
place  mighb  be. 

"Have  you  lived  here  Ion?  ?"  he  asked,  when  he  saw 
that  he  was  expected  to  hold  his  interview  there. 

"  I  dunno  what  you  call  long,"  returned  the  old  man, 
sulkily  ;  "  I've  lived  here  better'n  seven  year — will  that  do 
ye?" 

"You  took  the  cottage,  did.  you  not,  from  a  man  named 
Territ  ?  " 

"  Not  I." 

"  Did  you  not  ?  I  understood  he  was  living  here  about 
ten  years  ago.  He  was  a  miner,  and  he  had  a  daughter 
named  " 

"  I  know  her  name,"  put  in  the  old  man,  scraping  the 
sole  of  his  boot  upon  the  spade  he  held.  "  If  that's  all  ye 
want,  I  can  tell  ye  that — sir."  The  last  word  was  added 
apparently  against  the  speaker's  will,  as  he  glanced  at  the 
face  and  figure  opposite  him.  "  Her  name  was  Alargit.  I've 
heerd  of  her.  She  married  from  this  cottage,  and  went  with 
her  husband  to  the  county  town.  I've  heerd  nothin'  of  her 
since  then.  What  should  I  hear,  if  she's  a  respectable 
"ooman,  and  stays  at  home  ?  " 

"  Then  you  did  not  know  either  of  them  personally  ?* 

"Notl." 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  the  name  of  Margaret's  hus- 
band ?  " 

"  No — I  never  heerd  it.  That's  a  fine  dog  o'  yourn,  sir 
— fleet  as  the  wind,  I'll  warrant.  No,  I  don't  trouble  about 
my  neebors'  names — not  I.  Margit  married  a  town  chap, 
and  I  know  none  o'  them.  Is  there  anythin'  more  you'd 
care  to  ask  ?  "  added  the  old  man,  still  gazing  critically  at 
the  greyhound,  which  sat  waiting  at  his  master's  feet. 

"  Margaret's  father — is  he  dead  ?  " 

"  Dead  !  Years  and  years  ago.  A  fine  horse  that  at  the 
gate,  sir — is  it  your'n  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  mine,"  said  Royden,  pleasantly  ;  "  but,  before 
I  mount  him,  just  let  me  look  round  your  cottage  kitchen, 
will  you  ?  " 

"  Ye're  welcome,"  said  the  old  man,  in  anything  but  a 
gracious  tone.  "There's  naught  to  see  in  there,  but,  if  j« 
like  to  take  the  trouble,  why,  ye  can." 


84  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MOJJET. 

Saying  this,  he  Btuck  his  spade  in  the  soil  among  hi§ 
cabbages,  and  opened  the  door  of  the  cottage. 

Desolate  as  the  little  dwelling  had  looked  from  without, 
it  was  far  more  desolate,  to  Royden's  eyes,  within.  Every- 
thing bore  evidence  of  poverty,  and  nothing  breathed  the 
presence  of  a  woman's  care  or  thrift.  But  whether  it  was 
only  of  this  that  Hoyden  was  thinking,  as  he  stood  and 
looked  round  the  bare  and  gloomy  kitchen,  no  one  could 
judge. 

"  The  door  leading  into  the  garden  at  the  back,  you  have 
fastened  up,  I  see." 

The  old  man  glanced  with  rude  astonishment  up  into  the 
grave,  dark  face. 

"  You  know  the  place,  then,  do  ye  ?  " 

"  From  hearsay,"  was  the  quiet  answer ;  "  I  have  heard  of 
this  cottage,  of  course.  Who  that  has  heard  of  old  Mr.  M yd- 
delton's  murder  has  not  heard  of  this  cottage  of  Territ's  ?  " 

"Ah,  sure,  it  was  talked  a  deal  of  at  the  time,  I  s'pose  ?" 

"Gabriel  Myddelton" — the  visitor  was  slowly  treading 
the  cottage  floor  as  he  spoke — "  threw  out  there,  they  pay, 
the  water  in  which  he  washed  his  hands  after  the  murder, 
and  in  the  fire  there  he  threw  his  wristbands  stained  with 
blood.  I  see.  You  do  not  happen  to  know,  I  suppose,  where 
he  hid  his  coat  ?  " 

"  Lor'  bless  me,  what  should  I  know  of  such  things  ?  n 
ejaculated  the  old  man,  with  a  pious  horror  of  the  subject. 
"  I'd  do  better  to  forget  that  any  murderer  was  ever  in  here 
at  all.  I  didn't  ever  trouble  to  ask  where  the  coat  was  found, 
or  anythin'  of  the  kind,  not  I." 

"  It  was  Margaret,  I  believe,  who  hid  it,  but  I  have 
never  heard  whether  it  was  she  or  her  father  who  brought 
it  to  light." 

"  Maybe,  maybe,"  returned  the  old  man,  absently;  "I 
never  troubled  to  question  any/thin'  about  it.  Girls  are 
great  ijjits  sometimes.  She  may  a-wanted  to  screen  that 
/oung  Myddelton  ;  but  I  dunno — I  dunno." 

Roy  den  was  leaning  against  the  rickety  little  table  in  the 
centre  of  the  kitchen,  his  eyes  bent  upon  the  small  wood- 
fire,  his  face  full  of  deep  thought,  and  one  hand  resting 
absently  on  the  greyhound's  head,  ^t-  old  labourer  stood 
watching  him  with  a  puzzled  (scrutiny.  No  figure  like  this 


OLD  MYDDELTCCN'S  MONEY.  85 

nad  ever  stood  with  him  before  upon  his  cottage  hearth,  and 
the  very  novelty  of  it  worried  him. 

"  He  don't  take  on  impident,"  he  thought  to  himself, 
**  nor  he  don't  attempt  preachin'  and  such  like,  but  I  don't 
see  any  good  comin'  here  pokin*  into  that  old  murder  that 
everybody's  forgotten.  That's  a  fine  dog,  though — there's 
no  doubt  about  him" 

Judging  by  ihe  stress  the  old  man  laid  upon  the  last 
pronoun,  there  did  exist  a  doubt  about  the  dog's  master, 
who  rose  now  from  his  easy  position,  and  turned  his  eyes 
from  the  fire  with  an  appearance  of  having  suddenly  awakened 
to  the  present  from  some  long  thought  which  had  held  him. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  offering  his  hand  to  the  astonished 
occupant  of  this  comfortless  dwelling  ;  "  I  have  wanted  to 
lee  this  cottage  ever  since  I  heard  the  story  of  the  murder, 
/here  is  very  little  to  see,  as  you  said  ;  still,"  I'm  much 
obliged  to  you  for  showing  it.  Good  night." 

Quietly,  and  even  unobserved  by  the  eld  man's  watchful 
eyes,  he  put  a  sovereign  down  upon  the  taWe,  then  re-trod 
the  rough  little  garden-path,  and  mounted  Robin. 

"  A  nice  evening,  sir  ;  you'll  have  a  pleasant  ride." 

The  old  labourer  had  not  seen  the  sovereign,  yet  his  tone 
was  changed.  It  was  even  respectful,  though  he  could  not 
have  told  what  it  was  in  his  visitor  which  had  caused  this 
involuntary  change.  Royden  did  not  notice  it.  Touching 
his  hat  kindly,  in  answer  to  the  old  man's  awkward  bow,  he 
rode  on  up  the  lane  at  a  trot. 

No  other  cottage,  and  no  other  human  being,  came  into 
Bight,  until  a  mile  further  on,  he  reached  a  stile  over  which 
a  woman  was  climbing,  with  a  heavy  sheaf  of  wheat  upon 
her  head  and  a  baby  in  her  arms.  Royden  waited  until  she 
came  down  the  lane  and  turned  to  go  his  way  ;  then  he  spoke. 

"  You  are  heavily  laden  to-night.  Let  me  carry  the  little 
one  as  far  as  we  are  going  on  the  same  way ." 

He  took  the  child  and  made  her  snug  before  him  on  the 
beautiful  black  horse,  while  the  mother  watched  him,  look- 
ing half  afraid,  until  she  saw  the  proud  delight  of  the  little 
girl  so  safely  held  in  her  grand  position. 

"  You  have  been  gleaning,  of  course  ? "  said  Royden 
making  his  horse's  steps  suit  the  pace  of  the  tired  mother. 

"Yes,  sir." 

fe 


81  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

A  little  pause.  Royden's  motive  in  talking  was  not  to 
pass  the  time  away,  but  to  make  the  wisest  use  of  it. 

"  I  Lavejuat  been,"  he  said,  breaking  the  pause  as  soon  as 
he  could,  "  to  that  ruinous  cottage  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
Abbotsmoor  woods  ;  do  you  know  it  ?  The  Territs  used  to 
live  there — a  miner  and  his  dauehter,  who  made  themselves 
well  known  at  the  time  of  old  Mr.  Myddelton's  murder." 

"  I  remember,  sir,"  replied  the  woman,  respectfully  ;  "  at 
least,  I  remember  a  little  about  it.  Margaret  Territ  married 
just  after ;  but  I  needn't  tell  you  that,  sir ;  those  who  know 
about  the  murdtr — at  any  rate,  about  the  escape — must 
^uow  about  Margaret's  marriage." 

"  Is  her  husband  living  now  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  at  least,  I  oughtn't  to  say  even  that  for  certain, 
for  I  only  know  what  my  ears  pick  up  by  chance  Mar- 
garet's living  somewhere  in  this  very  neighbourhood  now, 
sir,  I  believe.  I've  never  seen  her,  but  I've  heard  she  came 
back  here  some  bit  ago  as  a  widow.  It  may  be  many  miles 
off  that  she  is,  but  I  don't  know  ;  people  talk  about  her  as 
if  she  was  somewhere  round  about  here." 

"  You  are  sure  she  is  a  widow  ?  "  questioned  Royden. 

"They  said  so,  sir,  when  she  came  ;  that's  all  I  know." 

"You  do  not  really  belong  to  this  part,  I  suppose — I 
mean,  you  have  not  lived  here  all  your  life  ?  " 

"No,  sir,  only  since  my  marriage,  four  years  ago.  1 
come  from  "Wales,  but  my  husband  has  always  lived  here, 
and  he  knows  no  more  about  the  Territs  than  I  do.  The  old 
man  was  hurt  in  a  mine,  and  was  a  long  time  dying.  I 
can't  tell  you  why  Margaret  should  have  come  back  to  live 
here.  She  was  left  a  widow  with  just  enough  to  live  upon." 

"  And  you  cannot  tell  me  what  her  husband's  name  was  ?  " 
queried  Roy  den. 

"  No,  indeed  I  can't,  sir  ;  and  I  don't  know  who  can.  It 
never  seems  to  have  been  let  out,  or  else  it  was  never  cared 
gbout.  That's  our  cottage,  sir,  across  the  field,  and  we  turn 
ap  here.  Thank  you  kindly." 

She  took  the  little  girl  from  Royden's  arms  and  went  on 
her  way,  the  child  crying  to  go  back,  and  the  mother  sooth- 
ing her  ;  while  Royden  rode  quickly  on,  crossing  meadows, 
end  following  lanes,  until  he  had  left  Abbotsmoor  mile* 
behind,  and  found  himself  on  a  small  rugged  heath. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  87 

"  I  ought,"  he  mused,  glancing  around  him,  "  to  be  able 
to  get  back  to  Kinbury  without  retracing  the  way  I  have 
come.  How  will  it  be  ?  Kinbury  lies  over  there,  due  east; 
so  if  I  cut  off  a  corner  of  the  heath  and  push  straight  on,  t 
can  hardly  miss  my  way,  though  I  must  necessarily  be  late." 

When  he  had  cut  off  the  corner  of  the  heath,  he  stopped 
in  surprise.  At  this  spot  two  high  hedge-rows  ended 
abruptly,  and  between  them  the  grass  grew  rank  and  un- 
trodden. A  narrow,  hedged-in  strip  of  scanty  pasture-land 
it*  might  have  been,  but  Hoyden's  quick  eye  detected  at 
once  that  this  had  been  a  lane.  Was  it  passable  now  ? 

Just  then  he  caught  sight  of  a  man  crossing  the  heath  at 
A  little  distance,  and  riding  up  to  him,  he  questioned  him. 

He  was  a  farmer,  young  and  well  to  do,  but  he  spoke  in 
a  tone  of  quiet  respect  as  he  glanced  with  shrewd  criticism 
at  horse  and  rider. 

"I'm  almost  a  stranger  here  myself,"  he  said,  "but  I 
have  heard  these  lanes  spoken  of  as  impassable.  When 
the  line  to  the  mine  was  cut,  it  made  those  old  lanes  useless, 
BO  new  roads  were  made,  aud  those  bye-ways  have  been 
allowed  to  run  to  seed,  as  you  see.  I  don't  think  I  would 
attempt  them,  if  I  were  you  ;  you  want  a  stiff  north-country 
pony  for  such  an  experiment,  not  such  a  horse  as  that. 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  think  I  will  try,"  said  Royden. 

"Pure  perverseness,"  muttered  the  farmer,  left  to  his 
solitary  walk  again.  "  He'  sure  to  have  to  turn  back." 

Along  that  grass-grown  track  between  the  high  hedge- 
rows Royden  rode,  the  steps  of  his  young  horse  constantly 
impeded,  and  its  head  tossed  impatiently  under  this  unusua1 
treatment. 

"  Where  can  we  be  ?  " 

The  exclamation  broke  from  Royden  when,  after  half-an- 
hour's  slow  riding,  he  reached  a  chained  but  broken  gate 
which  stretched  like  a  termiuus  across  the  rough,  forgotten 
way.  Robin,  at  all  events,  could  not  pass  this  barrier. 

"  The  question  is,"  mused  Royden,  "  can  I  venture  to 
leave  him  here  for  a  time,  or  must  I  turn  now?  I  would 
father  go  on,  if  I  could,  and  see  if  there  is  any  cottage 
hereabouts  where  they  remember " 

The  thought  was  broken  by  a  rustling  in  the  hedge, 
and  presently  there  emerged  into  the  lane  a  ragged,  hatlea 


88  CJ.D  MYDD^LTON'^  MONEY. 

lad,  with  a  look  in  his  bright  eyes,  half  of  fear  and  half  of 
defiance. 

"  Trespassing  !  "  said  Eoyden,  looking  coolly  down  upon 
him.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  nuts  ?  " 

"  Nuts,  sir  ! "  the  lad  echoed,  with  the  innocent  look  of 
one  well  versed  in  falsehood.  "  What  nuts  ?" 

"  These,"  said  Hoyden,  touching  with  his  riding-whip  one 
after  another  of  the  pockets  which  bulged  from  the  lad's 
shabby  garments. 

"Oh,  those,"  said  the  boy,  brought  sturdily  to  bay, 
"mother '11  sell  'em." 

"  What  will  your  mother  get  for  a  handful — sixpence?  " 

"  Bless  ye,  no,  sir;  threepence,  maybe." 

"Well,  I  will  give  you  sixpence  for  the  first  handful,  and 
you  shall  see  how  cleverly  my  dog  can  crack  and  eat  them ." 

To  the  boy,  grasping  his  sixpence  in  one  hand  and  supply- 
ing with  the  other  the  nuts  which  Lachne  cracked,  those 
ten  minutes  were  minutes  of  perfect  enjoyment  ;  but  they 
faded  into  insignificance  when  the  crowning  joy  was  given. 

"  If  I  tie  my  horse  to  this  gate,"  said  Jioyden,  suiting  the 
action  to  his  words  in  his  prompt,  cool  way,  "  can  you  watch 
and  take  care  of  him  till  I  come  back  ?  Don't  come  too 
near  him — he  isn't  used  to  little  lads  ;  but  you've  watched  a 
horse  before  now,  I  daresay,  and,  if  you  do  it  well  this  time,  I 
have  some  loose  shillings  in  my  pocket  which  may  find  their 
^ay  into  yours." 

The  boy's  eyes  brightened  under  his  shaggy  hair. 

"Yes,  sir;  I've  tended  horses  afore  now,  sir,"  he  said, 
with  a  friendly  nod.  "  Will  you  take  the  dog,  sir  ?  " 

"  He  will  do  as  he  likes, '  said  Royden,  as  he  climbed  the 
gate  and  walked  on. 

But  the  boy's  doubt  was  soon  settled,  for  the  greyhound 
darted  over  the  gate,  and  was  close  beside  his  master  in  a 
moment. 

Through  two  or  three  fields  Royden  had  walked,  when 
he  found  himself  in  a  small  three-cornered  patch  of  meadow, 
ehut  in  entirely  by  two  hedges  and  the  embankment  of  that 
single  railway  line  to  the  mines,  which  was  the  cause  of  the 
way  being  so  negle<  ted  and  forsaken. 

"  Will  there  be  a  little  nook  beyond  the  line,"  questioned 
Roydeu  to  himself,  "  or  does  it  open  presently  to  the  high- 


OLD   MYD1) ELTON'S  MONEY.  89 

way  ?  I  suppose  I  had  better  not  go  on  from  here  this 
evening.  Ah  ! — great  Heaven  !  " 

For,  before  his  eyes,  a  child  sat  on  the  high  embankment, 
its  figure  clearly  outlined  against  the  evening  sky,  and  in 
his  ears  the  panting  of  a  fast-approaching  engine  sounded 
with  a  deafening  portent.  Where  was  it  ?  Which  way  was 
the  train  coming  ?  How  far  away  was  it  ?  How  soon 
would  it  rush  over  the  spot  on  which  his  eyes  were  fastened 
too  eagerly  for  him  to  see  aught  else  ?  Soon — in  one  minute 
perhaps,  it  might  be.  The  sight  of  the  great  engine  would 
give  the  child  one  awful  moment  of  panic,  in  which  it  would 
be  helpless  in  its  horror  ;  then  the  train  would  pass  on,  and 
there  would  be  no  child  sitting  there  against  the  evening 
light,  but  scattered  on  the  rails 

A  thousand  impossibilities  darted  into  Royden's  mind,  as 
he  stood  and  saw  the  child  playing  there  in  its  utter  un- 
consciousness, while  Death  came  rushing  on ;  a  thousand 
possibilities,  while  below  all,  was  the  awful  consciousness  that 
human  aid  was  powerless  here.  But,  for  all  that,  it  was 
only  through  one  breathless  second  that  he  stood  thus.  In 
the  next  he  was  again  the  man  who  had  faced  danger  and 
death  too  often  to  be  made  a  woman  by  it,  even  when  it 
came  in  such  a  form  as  this  and  he  knew  that  his  own  arm 
was  powerless  to  help  or  stay  it. 

His  resolution  was  as  swift  as  thought.  One  quick,  low 
whistle,  a  swift,  firm  gesture  of  his  haud,  a  keen,  eager  look 
upon  his  face,  which  the  intelligent  eyes  that  watched  it 
Beemed  to  understand — then  Royden  stood  alone  ;  and  the 
greyhound —literally  now  "  fleet  as  the  wind  " — sped  across 
the  field,  and  up  the  embankment.  The  impulse  of  the 
child,  as  the  animal  darted  up  to  him,  was  to  fly  in  the  op- 
posite direction,  and  this  saved  him  ;  for  in  one  instant  he 
had  fallen  down  the  steep  embankment  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  line  to  that  up  which  Lachne  had  sprung.  To  have 
seen  the  mighty,  panting  engine  bearing  down  upon  him 
would  have  paralysed  the  child  in  every  limb  ;  to  see  the 
hound  rush  towards  him  gave  him  just  the  terror  which 
urged  flight,  and  he  had  fallen  before  the  train  rolled  past. 
Roydeu's  eyes  were  strong  and  fearless,  and  had  looked  on 
death  close  and  bravely  more  than  once ;  but  there  glistened 
iomething  womanish  on  their  lashes  when  he  stood  upon  the 


90  OLL   MYDDELTONS   MONEY. 

line,  and  saw  something  scattered  there,  which  bore  no 
likeness  now  to  the  greyhound  which  for  years  had  kept  as 
faithfully  beside  his  master  as  he  had  kept  that  day. 

Hoyden  murmured  no  words  of  praise  or  pity  as  he  stood 
looking  down  upon  these  ghastly  fragments  ;  and,  keenly  aa 
he  mourned  his  favourite,  there  rose  no  bitter  query  in  hia 
mind,  "  Had  the  life  of  a  neglected  child  been  worth  this 
sacrifice  ?  "  There  are  some  minds  in  which  such  questions 
never  can  have  birth. 

Royden  turned  away  with  one  deep,  quiet  sigh,  stifling 
the  memories  of  old  days  through  which  this  dog  had  been 
his  only  companion,  a  faithful  and  a  constant  one,  always 
watchful  and  always  true.  His  care  was  wanted  now  for 
the  child  whom  Lachne's  death  had  saved.  So,  struggling 
bravely  with  his  thoughts,  while  his  heart  was  heavy, 
lioyden  lifted  the  unconscious  child,  a  boy  of  five  or  six 
years  old,  and  saw  a  deep  cut  across  his  low,  brown  forehead, 
and  one  lock  of  fair  hair  lying  upon  it  stained  with  blood. 
Tenderly — almost  as  if  the  strong  arms  had  been  used  to 
such  a  task — Rovden  carried  him  to  where,  about  a  hundred 
yards  away,  a  cottage  stood  alone  under  a  giant  poplar.  As 
he  approached  it  he  saw  that  a  woman  was  standing  shrink- 
ingly  against  the  wall,  gazing  at  him  with  a  kind  of  vacant 
terror  as  he  advanced. 

"  Can  you,"  asked  Royden,  wondering  at  the  expression 
on  the  woman's  handsome,  care-lined  face,  "direct  me  to 
the  home  of  this  child  ?  He  has  had  a  fall,  and  I  want  to 
leave  him  with  his  mother." 

The  woman  raised  both  hands,  and  touched  the  child  very 
gently,  but  she  did  not  move  her  eyes  from  Royden's  face — 
BO  full  of  grave  and  quiet  kindness  then. 

"  Your  child  ? "  he  asked,  pitifully,  as  he  watched  her. 
"  I  am  very  glad  ;  and,  if  this  is  your  home,  let  us  go  in." 

"  I  saw,"  she  said,  still  without  moving,  "  but  I  could  not 
stir.  I  could  not  run.  I  could  not  even  pray.  I  saw  him 
sitting  there,  and  the  engine  coming — coming — close  upon 
him.  Then  I  saw  him — saved  !  This  scratch  " — laying  her 
finger  softly  on  the  cut — "  is  nothing  to  me,  because  in  that 
one  awful  moment,  I  saw  him— dead  !  " 

"  Come,"  said  Royden,  gently,  but  not  offering  now  to  give 
the  child  to  her  ;  "  we  want,  warm  water  to  bathe  his  face." 


OLD  MYDDELTOK'S  MONEY.  $1 

It  was  he,  though,  who  led  the  way  into  the  cottage,  and 
when  the  mother  had  followed  him  in,  she  only  fell  on  her 
knees  beside  the  little  cotton-covered  couch  on  which  Royden 
had  tenderly  laid  down  the  chilcL 

"  I  saw  it,"  she  cried  again,  laying  a  soft  brown  hand 
upon  the  boy's  cut  forehead,  as  if  to  hide  the  stains  she 
would  not  yet  remove.  "  I  saw  death  rushing  to  seize  my 
child,  and  then  I  saw  him — saved  !  " 

Gently  Royden  touched  her  on  the  shoulder,  and  told  her 
what  few  mothers  would  have  required  to  be  told. 

"  It  is  not  waut  of  love,"  he  whispered  to  himself.  "  Poor 
thing — poor  mother !  Will  solitude  work  this,  or  has  it 
been  a  shock  ?  " 

For  a  whole  hour  he  waited  with  the  mother  and  her 
child — her  only  one,  that  fact  was  plain  to  him  without  a 
word  ;  her  only  one,  and  she  a  widow.  Then  he  rose  to  go, 
for  the  little  boy  was  sleeping  calmly,  with  a  soft  bandage 
round  his  head,  and  the  mother's  wide  and  puzzled  eyes  had 
found  the  blest  relief  of  tears. 

"  There  are  one  or  two  things  that  I  want  to  borrow  of 
you,"  said  Royden  then,  "  and  a  few  feet  of  your  waste 
ground." 

She  understood  in  a  moment,  and  through  the  next  hour's 
bitter  work  she  helped  him  almost  as  efficiently,  and  quite 
as  silently,  as  a  man  could  have  done. 

"  Such  sights  as  this  would  make  most  women  shrink  and 
faint,"  thought  Royden,  "  but  not  this  woman.  Can  hei 
dim  eyes  have  looked  on  such  a  sight  before  ? " 

"Thank  you  for  all  your  help,"  he  said,  aloud,  "and  for 
that  quiet  spot  you  chose  for  my  dog's  grave.  I  will  come 
again  some  day  to  see  the  little  lad.  He  will  soon  be  all 
ri<*ht,  and  I  fancy  he  will  never  again  push  his  way  through 
difficulties  and  obstacles  up  to  the  railway-line." 

"Never  again,"  the  woman  returned,  in  her  dreamy  way, 
her  undrooping,  vacant  eyes  still  fixed  upon  Royden  as  he 
stood  in  the  low  cottage  kitchen.  "  1  have  not  thanked  you 
yet,"  she  faltered,  "  I — cannot." 

"  Your  thanks  are  due  elsewhere,"  said  Royden,  gently, 
"not  to  me." 

A  few  minutes  more  he  lingered,  hardly  liking  even  yet 
to  leave  her  in  her  sorrow  and  loneliness  ;  and  then — tbi 


92  OLD   M  YD  IJ  ELTON 'h   MONEy. 

the  first  time  since  he  had  seen  the  child's  unconscious 
figure  sitting  against  the  evening  light,  while  he  heard  the 
punting  engine  close  upon  it — there  rushed  back  into  hi? 
mind  the  motive  of  this  search  of  his. 

"  I  have  been  to-nighc,"  he  said,  "  to  that  cottage  beyonti 
the  Abbotsmoor  woods,  where  Territ  the  miner  used  to  live, 
lie  had  a  daughter,  I  believe.  Do  you  happen  to  remember 
them  at  all  ?  " 

"No,  no." 

The  woman's  answer  came  clear  and  quick,  and  her  eyes 
grew  startled  in  their  unmoved  gaze. 

"  Do  you  not  ?  I  am  particulary  anxious  to  meet  with 
pome  trace  of  this  girl — girl  I  say,  but  I  am  thinking  of 
what  she  must  have  been  ten  years  ago.  She  is  a  woman  of 
thirty  now,  I  should  think." 

No  answer,  and  Hoyden  went  on,  his  gaze  a  little  more 
intent,  his  thoughts  awaking  to  suspicion. 

"  You  do  not  happen,  you  say,  to  have  heard  where  she 
lives  now,  or  even  her  name  ?  " 

"  No,  no." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  whether  the  Christian  name  of  any  of 
you  neighbours  is  Margaret  ?  It  would  help  me  if  you  could 
tell  me  even  so  little  as  that." 

Her  startled  gaze  deepened  a  little,  her  lips  shook  even 
as  she  compressed  them  firmly,  her  hands  were  locked  before 
her  as  if  the  tension  gave  her  strength  to  stand. 

"  I  have  no  neighbours." 

"  Thank  you,  then  it  is  useless  to  ask  you  more."  Royden 
said  this  very  quietly,  but  a  shrewd  ear  would  have  detected 
the  undertone.  "  Good-bye,"  he  added,  and  his  eyes  were 
kind  in  their  gaze,  and  hid  the  thoughts  that  lay  below. 

The  woman  stood  quite  still  for  a  few  minutes  after  he 
had  left,  and  then  she  turned  with  a  shiver  to  the  fire, 
murmuring  the  name  to  herself  again  and  again. 

"  Margaret  Ten-it ! — Margaret  Territ !  What  should  he 
want  with  her — with  Margaret  ?  She  died — many  years 
ago — ten  years  ago — quite  suddenly  she  died,  on  the  day  of 
that  trial.  He  was  guilty  of  murder,  they  said.  Ah,  that  was 
a  double  murder !  No  wonder  she  died — poor  Margaret !" 

The  simple  dreamy  smile  with  which  she  had  been  looking 
down  upon  her  Bleeping  child  gave  place  to  one  which. 


OLD   MYDD  ELTON'S  MONET.  93 

ewjftly  as  it  eped,  looked  pitifully  out  of  character  upon  the 
worn  face — a  smile  of  caution  which  amounted  to  cunning. 

"  He  saved  my  child — I  remember  that ;  but — ho 
shouldn't  have  spoken  of  Margaret." 

On  the  strip  of  carpet  on  her  hearth,  with  her  chin  in  her 
palms  and  her  eyes  upon  the  fire,  the  woman  sat  for  more 
than  an  hour,  buried  so  deeply  in  thought,  that  when,  at  last, 
the  child  awoke,  and  roused  her  with  its  sudden  cry,  she 
sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  shriek  of  fear,  and  gazed  in  horror 
round  the  cottage  walls. 


CHAPTER  TX. 

Friend  or  brother, 
He  forfeits  his  own  blood  that  spills  another. 

It  was  the  day  of  the  Abbotsmoor  pic-nic,  and  Phoebe 
Owen,  with  a  care-encumbered  expression  of  countenance, 
added  the  finishing  touches  to  her  elaborate  toilette. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  she  fretted,  looking  at  herself 
iu  the  glass  as  she  put  on  her  tall  hat  with  its  pink  roses 
and  blue  feathers,  "  but  whatever  way  I  do  my  hair  I  always 
look  the  same.  I  learned  this  new  way  from  Theodora, 
and  it  doesn't  make  me  look  any  better — does  it,  Honor  ?  " 

Thus  appealed  to,  Honor  answered,  with  pleasant  rash- 
ness, that  it  was  not  at  all  a  good  thing  for  girls  to  be 
altered  by  the  way  they  did  their  hair ;  and  then  she  put 
her  head  gravely  on  one  side,  to  criticise  the  plump  littla 
figure  which  she  had  so  patiently  and  brightly  assisted  to 
adorn. 

"  Well,"  inquired  Phcebe,  anxiously,  "  what  will  they 
think  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  can  imagine  the  Sector's  eyes  when  he  says,  '  Phoebe, 
my  dear,  what  a  very  secular  costume  ! '  " 

"  You  are  always  laughing,  and  seeming  as  if  ycu  weren't, 
Honor,"  said  Phoebe,  pettishly.  But  for  all  that,  now 
that  the  arduous  performance  was  over,  and  she  could  see  the 
startling  foul  ensemble  in  the  glass,  her  own  lips  broke  into 
a  gratified  smile.  "  Lawrence  will  see  that  I  have  made 
the  most  of  the  money  he  gave  me,  won't  he,  Honor?  " 

*  Indeed  he  will ;  but  I  must  run  off.    Think  of  ma 


94  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

here  in  my  dressing-frown  at  five-and-twenty  minutes  past 
twelve,  and  Lawrence  ordered  the  waggonette  for  half-past ! " 

"  But,  you  see,"  put  in  Phoebe,  unwilling  even  yet  for 
her  cousin  to  go,  "  Lawrence  will  wait  for  you  and  not  b* 
angry,  and  he  makes  such  a  luss  if  I  am  late,,  Is  Jana 
ready  ? — and  how  does  she  look  ?  " 

"  Very  nice,"  replied  Honor,  shortly,  for  she  never  would 
allow  any  of  Phoebe's  spiteful  remarks  on  Miss  Haughton's 
personal  appearance.  Hard  and  suspicious  as  Jane  Haughton 
might  be  to  her  young  kinswoman,  this  young  kinswoman, 
on  whom  nature  had  lavished  her  fairest  gifts,  had  never  a 
word  to  say  against  Jane's  appearance. 

"In  her  temper,  I  mean,"  explained  Phoebe.  "There's 
Lawrence  calling  I  Here  we  are,  Lawrence  ! "  she  cried, 
rushing  past  Honor  and  down  the  stairs.  "  At  least  here 
I  am,  and  Honor  won't  be  a  minute." 

Without  even  a  thought  for  Phoebe's  selfishness,  Honor 
ran  lightly  into  her  own  room,  and  five  minutes  afterwards 
sprang  down  the  last  few  steps  into  the  hall,  alighting  un- 
expectedly beside  Lawrence  as  he  paced  to  and  fro  waiting 
for  her. 

"  Oh  !  Lawrence,  I  did  not  see  you  !  I  fancied  you  would 
be  fuming  on  the  box  of  the  waggonette ." 

"  I  chose  to  fume  here  instead,"  said  Lawrence,  trying  to 
assume  a  sternness  which  he  could  not  feel  while  she  stood 
beside  him  in  her  bright  and  girlish  beauty.  "  Sit  on  the 
box  beside  me,  Honor,  and  the  man  and  the  hamper  shall 
go  inside." 

With  only  a  slight  shake  of  the  head  for  answer,  Honot 
stepped  up  into  the  waggonette,  and  Mr.  Haughton  followed 
her,  to  Phoebe's  great  delight. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  drive,"  remarked  Jane. 

"No,"  he  answered,  curtly.    "  Take  the  reins,  Hare." 

It  was  scarcely  half-an-hour's  drive,  from  The  Larches  to 
Abbotsmoor,  yet  the  waggonette  was  the  last  vehicle  which 
drew  up  before  the  empty  mansion,  where  all  the  guests 
were  gathered,  some  dismounting  and  others  standing 
Bbout.  There  was  Theodora,  resplendent  in  green  and 
white  grenadine,  lingering  near  the  dog-cart,  from  which. 
Roydcn  Koith  was  assisting  little  Mrs.  Payte  to  alight.  There 
wuB  ike  juvial  Rector,  waking  the  sleeping  echoes  of  the 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  95 

place  with  his  hearty  laugh,  while  his  comely  wife  went  in 
and  out  among  the  party,  dispensing  sage  but  unheeded 
advice  on  tlie  subject  of  hampers.  There  was  Captain 
Trent,  sauntering  to  and  fro,  and  vouchsafing  languid  in- 
structions to  the  men-servants  froom  Deergrove.  There 
was  Mrs.  Trent,  in  heavy  bronze-coloured  silk,  making 
strenuous  use  of  her  eyes  and  fan.  There  was  Lady 
Somerson,  courteously  apologising  for  the  absence  of  Sir 
Philip,  and  making  herself  quietly  and  unobtrusively 
pleasant,  as  high-bred  ladies  sometimes  do.  There  was 
Pierce,  in  possession  of  a  huge  luncheon  basket ;  and  there 
was  little  Monsieur  Verrien,  arranging  his  camera  in  front 
of  the  house,  and  weighed  down  by  a  greater  amount  of 
anxiety  than  pressed  upon  the  rest  of  the  company  conjointly. 

"The  photograph  must  be  taken  first,"  asserted  Miss 
Trent.  "  Who  will  fetch  Monsieur  Verrien  ?  " 

Monsieur  Verrien  came  up,  and  began  at  once  the  "  busi- 
ness "  of  his  day. 

"  Pardon,  mesdames  et  messieurs,"  he  said,  accosting  the 
whole  party  in  a  vague,  nervous  way,  "  but  did  Lady 
Lawrence  say  she  would  have  the  facade  with  the  group  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  fagade  with  the  family  clustered  there." 

"  Thanks,  monsieur.  And  now  will  you  kindly  tell  me 
whom  I  am  to  take  ?  " 

He  had  happened  now  to  address  Lady  Somerson,  and  she 
drew  back  smiling. 

"Almost  everyone  but  myself,"  she  said. 

His  speech  passed  on  to  the  next  lady,  little  Mrs.  Payte, 
in  her  broad  brown  hat  and  old-fashioned  alpaca  dress. 

"Not  me.  Bless  the  man,  does  he  think  the  whole 
neighbourhood  is  peopled  by  old  Myddelton's  kindred  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  foreigner,"  explained  Lady  Somerson,  gently, 
"  and  almost  a  stranger  here." 

"  Oh  !  I  know  all  about  him,"  said  the  small  old  lady, 
with  a  grunt  which  greatly  amused  some  of  the  bystanders  ; 
"  but  I  wish  somebody  would  put  it  to  him  in  his  native 
tongue  that  Lady  Lawrence,  whoever  she  may  be,  did  not 
ask  for  my  portrait." 

Again  the  little  photographer's  question  passed  on,  and 
this  time  was  intercepted  by  Roy  den  Keith,  who  shook  hii 
head  and  smiled. 


96  OLD  MYDDEJ /TON'S  MONEY. 

"No,  monsieur,"  he  said,  in  his  courteous  way  ;  "  1  toe 
must  be  left  out  of  your  picture." 

"You  don't  scorn  the  idea  of  being  one  of  our  family 
quite  as  Mrs.  Payte  did,"  remarked  Theodora. 

He  stood  back,  watching  the  little  Frenchman  arrange  his 
group,  and  Mrs.  Payte,  chatting  volubly  all  the  time,  took 
up  her  station  near  him.  Lady  Somerson  and  the  Kector 
stood  nearer  the  photographer,  apparently  more  interested. 

"  Theodora  Trent  looks  very  well  in  that  position,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Payte, her  shrewd  eyes  glistening  as  she  watched 
the  preparation  for  the  photograph,  "and  she  knows  it." 

It  was  at  that  moment,  as  Yemen  walked  back  townrda 
his  camera,  that  Theodora,  with  a  smiling  glance,  beckoned 
to  Royden  that  she  wanted  him.  Mrs.  Payte  looked  sharply 
up  into  his  face,  and  saw  him  shake  his  head  ami  bow. 

"  How  kind  of  her  !  "  she  said,  feelingly.  "  She  would 
have  you  in  the  photograph,  if  possible.  It  will  make  a 
hideous  picture,"  she  continued,  presently,  with  a  placid 
enjoyment  of  her  idea.  "  Look  at  Hervey  Trent's  lacka- 
daisical attitude,  and  Mr.  Haughton's  assumption  of 
careless  ease.  That  blue  fabric  on  Phoebe's  head  will  come 
out  as  a  huge  white  blemish  ;  and  just  notice  the  amount 
of  space  Theodora's  skirts  occupy.  Lady  Lawrence  will 
know  a  great  deal  about  them  from  that  photograph,  won't 
Bhe  ?  How  is  she  to  know,  for  instance,  that  Miss  Trent 
made  all  the  arrangements  to  suit  herself,  and  that  Honor 
Craven,  standing  so  prettily  there  against  the  house,  is 
laughing  the  whole  notion  of  the  thing  to  scorn  ?  Bah  1  I 
have  no  patience  with  any  of  them  ! " 

"  So  I  see,  Mrs.  Payte,"  said  Royden,  laughing.  "  Perhapg, 
if  you  had  the  patience,  the  picture  would  not  seem  quite  so 
hideous." 

"  May  be.  For  goodness  sake,  let  us  walk  about  till  that 
farce  is  over." 

They  had  strolled  quite  half  a  mile  from  the  house,  when 
Royden  gave  an  imperceptible  start  and  stood  still. 

"This  is —  I  have  heard  of  this  oak,"  he  said,  as  they 
stopped  before  a  splendid  oak-tree,  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
park. 

Mrs.  Payte  looked  up  into  his  face,  and  then  higher, 
among  the  branches  of  the  oak. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MOSEY.  J7 

"  Of  course,"  she  returned,  sharply  ;  "  everything  about 
lid  Myddelton's  place  has  been  well  talked  of." 

"  This  tree  must  be  a  thousand  years  old,"  Eoyden  con- 
tinned,  moving  nearer,  "  and  it  is  hollow." 

"  How  quick  you  are  ! "  observed  the  old  lady,  as  she 
tripped  round  the  tree.  "  You  spoke  before  you  had  seen 
the  opening." 

She  was  stopping  then  in  front  of  an  aperture  four  of 
five  feet  high,  and  a  couple  of  feet  wide. 

"  What  a  huge  trunk  !  "  she  said,  looking  in  over  the  foot 
of  bark  which  still  remained,  and  formed  a  kind  of  stile  to 
the  entrance  of  the  cavity.  "  This  hollow  would  dine  a 
dozen  people.  I  like  to  see  these  old  trees  on  an  old  estate  ; 
but  I  don't  like  this  estate  ;  do  you,  Mr.  Keith  ?  " 

"  I  should,"  replied  Royden,  walking  quietly  on,  at  the 
little  lady's  side,  "  if  I  could  see  it  utilized  and  beautified  ; 
with  a  man's  hand  and  heart  at  work  about  it,  and  a  woman's 
bright,  sweet  presence." 

"Can  you  fancy  it  ?" 
,     "Yes." 

"  Bah  !  "  said  the  eld  lady,  answering  brusquely  Ivoyden'g 
Ifuiet  word.  "  How  can  old  Myddelton's  money  cause  any- 
thing but  evil,  when  we  remember  how  it  was  garnered  ?  " 

"  Very  easily,"  returned  Eoyden,  gazing  on  the  empty 
house  which  lay  before  them.  "  Can  we  possibly  hold  that 
heathenish  idea  of  there  being  a  curse  on  old  Myddelton's 
money  ?  Do  you  believe  that  his  wealth,  if  well  and  humbly 
nsed— -would  not  do  the  good  that  other  money  could;  and — • 
if,  as  I  said,  nobly  and  generously  used — return  in  blesings  on 
the  giver  ! " 

"No — old  Myddelton's,"  opposed  Mrs.  Pay te,  sturdily 
"I  remember  once  reading  an  epitaph  which  run  in  this  way — 

"That  I  spent,  that  I  had; 
That  I  gave,  that  I  have  ; 
That  I  left,  that  I  lost. 

do  yon  see  how  old  Myddelton  managed.  He  spent  little, 
BO  he  had  little  ;  he  gave  none,  so  he  has  none  ;  and  he  left 
much,  BO  he  lost  mightily.  How  I  hate  the  very  idea  of 
wealth  when  I  think  of  it !  See,  they  are  beckoning  '-  us. 
Dinner,  I  suppose — always  the  key-note  of  a  picnic  !  '* 
The  cloths  were  spread  in  the  shade  of  the  avenue  treei, 


98  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

under  which  a  merry  group  had  gathered  when  Royden  and 
Mrs.  Payte  came  up. 

The  photograph  was  taken,  and  now  there  was  no  thin  g 
more  for  them  to  do  but  to  enjoy  themselves  just  in  tlieir 
own  idle  way,  and,  first  of  all,  by  lingering  over  the  meal, 
for  which  everyone  was  ready.  Theodora's  management  of 
her  own  personal  affairs  was,  as  usual,  excellent,  and, 
viewed  from  her  stand-point,  thoroughly  successful.  She 
took  her  seat  between  Royden  Keith  and  Hervey 
Trent,  and  was  waited  upon  to  her  heart's  content.  Whether 
all  the  others  fared  as  well,  signified  very  little  indeed  to 
her. 

Phoebe  never  did  succeed  in  her  mild  diplomacy,  so  it  wai 
no  surprise  to  her  to  find  herself  at  a  quite  impassable  dis- 
tance from  her  guardian,  who  was  assiduously  waiting  on 
Honor,  and  chafing  very  visibly  at  Honor's  reception  of  his 
service.  Captain  Trent,  too,  dovetailed  in  his  mild  atten- 
tions, but  these  Honor  received  with  equally  careless  com- 
posure. It  was  a  rather  difficult  part  to  play,  this  of  Captain 
Hervey's.  "With  Miss  Trent's  presence  and  requirements  so 
persistently  asserted,  and  her  eyes  seldom  letting  any  one 
of  his  acts  escape  them,  his  straying  inclinations  were  some- 
what difficult  of  accomplishmeut. 

Whatever  Royden's  part  might  have  been,  he  played  it 
with  perfect  ease,  sometimes  humorously,  but  at  all  times 
quietly  and  easily.  He  had  stories  to  tell  now  and  then, 
ghort  and  pithy  experiences,  which, though  his  own,  never 
contained  repetition  of  the  objectionable  personal  pronoun. 
So  well  he  told  them,  too,  that  even  those — and  there  were 
more  than  one — who  wished  to  slight  them  and  him,  could 
not  do  so  ;  they  were  drawn  against  their  wills  to  listen  to 
his  stories,  feo  well  he  told  them — his  voice  perfectly 
grave,  and  no  smile  stirring  his  lips,  though  his  eyes  might 
be  full  of  fun — that  he  never  was  interrupted,  to  the  ruin 
of  the  story,  or  had  to  shorten  it  ignominiously.  But  once 
ie  made  a  sudden  pause,  and  finished  abruptly. 

"  That  wasn't  the  real  end  of  the  adventure,  Mr.  Keith," 
§aid  Theodora,  excitedly.  "  Please  don't  imagine  that  you 
can  take  us  in  so  easily." 

"  You  are  wise,  Mr.  Keith,"  Mrs.  Pajte  remarked.  "  In 
this  place  and  this  company,  you  never  intended  to  intrude 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  £9 

a  touching  episode,  though  I  do  believe  you  would  tell  that 
even  better.     What  is  it  you  have  there,  Miss  Trent  ?  " 

Theodora  had  looked  with  such  unutterable  insolence  at 
the  old  lady  during  her  interruption,  that  everyone  felt  a 
little  startled  by  the  cool  conclusion  being  addressed  parti- 
cularly to  her. 

"  Tartelettes  au  fromage  a  la  creme,"  replied  Theodora, 
frith  languid  frigidity. 

"  Good  to  eat  ?  " 

Theodora  passed  the  dish  back  to  the  footman  behind  her 
without  deigning  a  reply.  But  the  glance,  intended,  as  it 
was,  for  utter  annihilation,  missed  its  aim. 

"  In  our  young  days,  Mrs.  Payte,"  put  in  the  Rector 
classing  himself  genially  with  the  old  lady  of  threescore 
years  and  ten,  "  we  had  not  found  out  the  vast  advantages 
of  those  French  abbreviations." 

"  Abbreviations !  Isgelee  au  vin  an  abbreviation  of '  jelly'  ? 
Pooh  !  in  my  ycung  days  we  called  a  spade  a  spade,  and  we 
called  affection,  folly." 

Except  that  the  sayings  of  such  a  small  and  meanly-clad 
old  lady  must  necessarily  be  vulgar  in  the  extreme,  and  be- 
iow  the  notice  of  refined  and  elegant  minds,  this  suggestive 
speech  would  have  met  with  a  crushing  retort  from  Miss 
Trent  ;  but,  being  so,  it  was  only  consigned  to  a  deserved 
oblivion,  and  Theodora  graciously  continued  her  efforts  at 
entertainment.  But  at  intervals  during  the  day  she  relieved 
herself  by  wondering  why  that  common  and  sour-tempered 
little  being  should  ever  have  been  allowed  to  come  among 
them  ;  but  was  always  on  her  guard  as  to  the  recipient  of 
this  wonder,  because  she  was  perfectly  aware  in  whose 
escort  she  had  arrived. 

"  Hervey,  my  dear,"  observed  Mrs.  Trent,  aside  to  her 
nephew,  before  they  separated  after  dinner,  "  the  more 
Theodora  shows  her  dislike  to  that  chattering  old  person, 
the  more  Honor  Craven  chats  with  her.  You  should  tell 
the  girl  what  bad  taste  this  shows  ;  she  will  desist  then." 

Acting  complacently  on  this  suggestion,  Captain  Trent, 
lot  at  all  unwillingly,  drew  Honor  aside  to  speak  seriously 
Jo  her. 

"  Thank  you,  Hervey,"  she  said.  "  How  good  it  is  of 
you  to  think  of  these  things  even  at  a  pic-nic  1 " 


100  OLD  MYDDELTOH'8  MONEY. 

Hervey  told  her  graciously  that  of  course  he  always 
thought  of  "  these  things,"  and  then  had  the  mortification 
of  seeing  her  escape  from  him  as  swiftly  as  possible,  and 
straightway  join  a  group  in  which  the  obnoxious  old  lady 
was  a  prominent  figure. 

*'  Now  we  are  going  over  the  house." 

Two  or  three  voices  said  it  at  once,  and  a  general  move  was 
made.  Jane  Hanghton  rose  and  shook  the  crumbs  from  her 
lap,  heaving  a  sigh  over  the  abundant  remnants  of  the  feast. 
Pierce,  who  during  the  dinner  had  been  worth  two  or  three 
of  the  other  men  put  together,  was  quietly  waiting  on  one 
solitary  man  who  dined  among  the  avenue  trees  at  a  little 
distance. 

"  Will  he  repack  his  hamper  or  waste  it  ?  All  the  nicest 
things  here  are  what  Mr.  Keith  brought.  Silly  extrava- 
gance ! " 

With  her  mind  nnder  this  pressure,  Jane  Haughton  put 
up  her  parasol,  and  moved  stolidly  forward,  as  one  prepared 
to  do  her  duty  by  viewing  the  house.  Honor  ran  up  at  this 
moment  and  joined  the  group. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  inquired  Jane. 

"  Only  talking  to  Monsieur  Verrien.  I  said  he  could  go 
over  the  house,  too,  as  it  was  open.  He  would  like  to  see  the 
pictures." 

"  He  can  go  with  the  servants  when  we  have  been,"  re- 
marked  Theodora,  coldly. 

"Suppose  we  make  an  arrangement,"  proposed  the 
Rector,  "and  then  we  needn't  feel  dependent  on  each  other. 
We  meet  here — is  it  not  so  ? — at  six  o'clock,  for  tea,  and  for 
our  start  homewards." 

"Not  homewards,"  put  in  Theodora,  taking  the  wordji 
from  Mrs.  Trent.  "  You  are  coming  to  Deergove  then, 
please  ;  we  want  to  finish  the  day  with  a  dance.  You  all 
promise  to  come  ?  " 

The  "all"  was  uttered  certainly,  but  it  was  only  to 
Hoyden  Keith  that  she  chanced  to  turn  just  in  that  interro- 
gatory pause.  He  did  not  seem  to  notice  this,  and  the 
general  acceptance  of  Theodora's  invitation  was  hearty 
enough.  Mrs.  Payte,  who  certainly  had  not  been  particu- 
larly addressed,  even  if  included,  thanked  Miss  Trent  in  * 
fsrj  marked  manner,  and  expressed  herseli  as  most  happy. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  101 

"  Have  you  a  licence  to  shoot  over  the  Abbotsmoor  estate, 
Mr.  Keith  ?  "  asked  Honor,  as  they  walked  on. 

"  Yes  " 

"  The  steward  is  a  niggardly  fellow,"  put  in  Lawrence 
llnughton.  "How  do  you  think  he  served  me  last  year  ? 
lie  sent  me  a  present  of  game — a  brace  of  birds  and  a  hare, 
I  think — and  I,  of  course,  sent  him  a  note  of  thanks.  A  few 
months  afterwards,  he  came  to  me  to  settle  a  little  private 
matter  of  his,  by  law,  and  when  he  received  im  bill  he 
brought  it  to  me,  entreating  me  to  remember  the  game.  1 
did,  and  let  the  bill  go.  In  another  month  he  sent  me  a 
bill  of  this  game  by  a  man  who  was  to  wait  for  payment." 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Keith,  laughing. 

"  While  his  man  waited,  I  sent  a  clerk  to  his  house  with 
mij  bill  to  wait  for  payment." 

"You  were  quite  equal  to  the  occasioi,"  remarked 
Honor,  turning  to  join  another  group. 

"  How  horribly  dismal  it  looks  ! "  cried  PI  cebe,  pausing 
on  the  threshold  of  the  great,  echoing  hall.  "  .f  daren't  ven- 
ture in  without  some  strong  escort.  Lawrence,  will  you 
take  me  through  ?  " 

He  took  her  in,  and  returned  to  join  Honor. 

So  instinctively  she  shrank  from  him,  that,  noticing  it 
herself,  she  tried  to  laugh  off  the  gesture  of  repugnance. 

"  I  am  a  real  Craven,"  she  said :  "I  must  ho^er  in  the 
Rector's  protection." 

And,  to  Mr.  Romer's  intense  amusement,  she  kept  beside 
him  through  all  the  dusty  rooms  and  staircases,  on  which 
the  cobwebs  hung  as  thickly  as  the  leaves  hung  upon  thr 
ancient  trees  without.  But,  in  spite  of  her  words,  Honor 
had  no  shadow  of  craven  fear  within  her  inquisitive  eyes. 

They  reached  the  portrait-gallery  at  last,  but  found  it 
difficult  to  examine  and  criticise  the  pictures  until  they 
became  accustomed  to  the  heavy  semi-light. 

"  Mrs.  Payte,"  said  Honor,  leaving  the  Rector  now,  and 
linking  her  arm  in  that  of  the  small  old  lady,  "  you  have 
never  seen  the  pictures  belure.  Come  and  let  me  show  you 
Gabriel  Myddeiton." 

They  stood  before  the  portrait  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence-, 
and  by  that  time  the  others  had  joined  them  ;  all 
it  would  seem,  to  examine  this  one  picture. 


102  OLD  MYDDELTON-'S   MOXE7. 

"  "What  a  young  face  it  is !  "  said  Lady  Somerson.  "  Tin's 
portrait  must  have  been  taken  some  time  before  he  quarrelled 
with  his  uncle." 

"  The  date  is  1860,"  read  Lawrence.  u  That  was  one  year 
before  the  murder.  He  was  nineteen  then." 

"  It  is  a  handsome  face,"  observed  Mrs.  Payte,  her  hat 
pushed  back,  and  her  head  elevated  that  she  might  get  a 
good  look  at  the  picture;  "but  I  thought  that  Gabriel 
Myddelton  was  fairer — more,  for  instance,  like  Captain 
Trent." 

"  No,"  said  Lady  Somerson  ;  "  he  was  dark.  A  little  more 
like — Mr.  Keith,  only  not  so  tall,  nor  so  finely  built,  nor 
BO — handsome." 

"  Or,  rather,  not  so  old,"  put  in  Royden,  laughing,  as  he 
frankly  met  her  scrutinising  gaze.  "  Mr.  Huughton,  I  have 
never  heard  how  Gabriel  Myddelton  escaped  from  gaol." 

"  Have  you  not  ?  "  remarked  Lawrence,  haughtily,  ignor- 
ing the  evident  question  put  to  him. 

"Will  you  kindly  tell  me?" 

"  The  escape  was  managed  by  the  girl  whose  evidence  had 
gone  to  hang  him,  and  by  her  lover,  who,  as  ill  fate  would 
have  it,  was  warder  in  the  county  gaol." 

"As  ill  fate  would  have  it.  Yes  ?  "  said  Royden,  with  a 
curious  tone  in  the  question,  half  of  scorn  and  half  of 
amusement. 

"  The  man  got  admission  for  the  girl  to  see  Myddelton," 
put  in  Mr.  Romer,  noticing  Mr.  Haughton's  surliness,  "and 
she  passed  into  the  condemned  cell  in  profuse  tears.  She 
was  seen  to  walk  out  to  the  dog-cart  that  waited  for  her,  and 
then  to  pass  back  again,  and  out  again.  There  was  a  con- 
fused account  of  these  passings  to  and  fio,  as  if  the  gaolers 
had  been  off  their  guard,  taking  little  heed  of  her  in  her 
tears.  At  any  rate,  the  condemned  cell  was  empty  next 
aorning.  Gabriel  Myddelton  was  gone,  and  tlie  warder 
knew  nothing  about  it.  They  dismissed  him,  of  course,  aa 
without  his  connivance  the  girl  would  have  been  closely 
watched,  as  well  as  the  prisoner  ;  but  nothing  could  ever  be 
proved  against  him,  and  the  mystery  has  never  been  solved. 
Several  people  met  Margaret  Territ  driving  alone  to  the  gaol, 
and  several  met  her  driving  back,  still  alone  ;  but  the  fact 
femaiued.  Old  Myddelton's  murderer  never  was  seen  alter." 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S   MONEY.  103 

"A  clever  escape,"  said  Roy  den,  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Keith,  what  credit  you  give  the  miserable 
young  woman  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trent.  "  We  know  hardly 
anything  of  the  escape  ;  how  do  you  know  it  was  clever  ? " 

"  True,  Mr.  Haughton  favoured  me  with  very  few  particu- 
lars," assented  Roy  den,  coolly. 

"  From  that  time  Margaret  Territ  has  been  literally  lost 
to  the  world,"  continued  the  Rector,  "  and  I  feel  sure  we  can 
never  know  any  further  particulars  of  Gabriel's  escape." 

"  Unless  we  some  day  hear  them  from  Gabriel  himself." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Keith,"  cried  Theodora,  "  please  don't  talk  of 
tuch  a  thing !  Come,  why  have  we  stayed  so  long  before  this 
horrid  portrait ;  and  why  talk  so  much  about  a  wicked  felon?" 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Royden  Keith,  addressing  Mr.  Hangh- 
ton  in  a  clear,  marked  tone,  "  that  there  is  no  doubt  about 
Gabriel  Myddelton's  having  been,  as  Miss  Trent  says,  a 
wicked  felon  ?  You  would  doubtless  investigate  the  facts  ?  " 

"  Supposing  Gabriel  Myddelton  innocent,"  Mrs.  Payte 
struck  in,  drowning  Lawrence's  scornful  retort,  "  would  he 
have  old  Myddelton's  money  ?  " 

"  Impossible,  even  if  he  came  back  and  acquitted  him- 
self. The  money  was  willed  from  him." 

"  Phoebe,"  whispered  Honor,  as  they  moved  from  before 
the  picture*  "  Mr.  Keith  is  quite  sure  that  Gabriel  did  mur- 
der old  Mr.  Myddelton.  I  can  see  he  is." 

"  Of  course,"  cried  Phosbe ;  "  who  ever  doubted  it  ?" 

"  That's  pretty,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Payte,  standing  opposite 
a  heavily-framed  painting  of  a  young  girl  and  a  pony;  "  and 
I  declare  it  reminds  me  of  our  dinner.  Why  is  that  ? " 

"  Because  it  is  the  same  sweep  of  park,  Mrs.  Payte,"  ex- 
plained Honor.  "  This  is  the  spot  where  we  dined,  and  the 
pony  and  girl  stand  just  between  where  we  were  and  the 
front  of  the  mansion.  Do  you  guess  that  it  is  the  portrait 
of  Lady  Lawrence  when  a  girl  ?  She  was  not  fifteen  when 
she  went  out  to  India,  you  know." 

"  I'd  rather  see  a  likeness  taken  later,"  spoke  Mrs.  Payte, 
curtly.  "  That  tells  nothing  of  what  she  would  be  now." 

"  We  have  a  sketch  of  her  taken  lately,"  said  Honor.  "  She 
is  tall  and  stout,  with  smooth  black  hair,  and  a  placid, 
serious  face." 

"  I  dou't  like  that  sort  of  old  lady,"  objected  Mrs.  Fay  to, 


104  OLD    MYDDELTON'S   MONEY 

moving  away  impatiently,  and  leaving  Honor  to  wonder  • 
little  at  the  bad  taste  of  this  speech  from  one  who  was  go 
essentially  different. 

"  It  certainly  is  a  beautiful  park,"  said  the  little  old  lady, 
btopping  before  one  of  the  gallery  windows.  "  What  do  you 
intend  to  do,  Mr.  Haughton,  if  you  inherit  Abbotsmoor  ?" 

"  Let  it,"  replied  Lawrence,  promptly. 

"  And  you,  Miss  Owen  ?  " 

"  Certainly  let  it,"  returned  Phoebe,  delighted  to  echo  her 
guardian's  answer. 

"  And  you,  Miss  Trent  ?  " 

"  Pull  it  down,"  said  Theodora,  "  and  build  a  handsome^ 
modern  mansion,  raised  on  terraces." 

"  Wise,"  assented  the  old  lady  as  she  passed  the  question  on. 
"  You,  Captain  Trent,  doubtless  agree  with  Miss  Trent  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  replied  Hervey,  lazily  ;  "  but  I  should 
soon  cut  down  whole  acres  of  the  timber," 

"  Wise,  too.    And  you,  Miss  Craven  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  about  it,  but  I  should — restore  it,  I 
suppose,"  said  Honor,  smiling  ;  "  restore  it,  and " 

"  And  what  ?  "  inquired  the  old  lady,  sharply. 

"  And  try  to  make  the  old  place,  and  even  tne  old  name, 
honoured  again." 

"Gabriel  has  rendered  that  impossible,"  interposed 
Lawrence. 

"Quite  impossible,"  assented  Mrs.  Payte  ;  "and  your 
idea  is  childibh,  Honor.  I  should  have  said,  if  I  had  been 
you,  pull  it  all  down  and  leave  not  one  stone  upon  another." 

"  1  declare,  Honor,"  whispered  Hervey,  when  the  group 
was  scattered  again,  "that  litt/le  old  creature  has  done 
nothing  but  grumble  and  make  herself  disagreeable  all  day. 
I  shall  tell  her  so  presently." 

"  Which  will  be  making  yourself  much  more  disagreeable." 

They  strolled  for  some  time  longer  through  the  great, 
gloomy  rooms,  admiring  and  finding  fault,  chattering  and 
criticising,  Theodora's  sarcasm  excited  very  often  by  Honor'* 
fresh  delight  over  what  she  called  tiifles,  and  little  Mrs. 
Payte  popping  aiways  jnst  into  that  very  group  v\ hers  she 
did  not  seem  to  be  wanted. 

So  closely  had  Lawrence  Haughton  followed  Honor 
fch.ough  that  day,  and  BO  merry  had  she  been,  that  it  was 


OLD  MYDDELTOK'S  MOKEY.  105 

g  great  surprise  to  Royden  Keith,  late  on  in  the  afternoon, 
to  come  upon  her  seated  in  one  of  the  staircase  windows 
alone,  and  with  a  wistful  earnestness  in  her  eyes  as  she 
looked  out  over  the  park. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  estate,  Miss  Craven,"  he  said,  as  he 
paused  beside  her,  lookingly  intently,  and  rather  quizzically, 
down  into  her  face.  "  Are  you  wishing  it  were  yours  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  in  a  tone  as  grave  as  the  beautiful 
young  face  ;  "  I  am  only  wondering  how  any  one  could  have 
lived  here  such  a  life  as  old  Mr.  Myddelton  lived.  And " 

"  And  ?  "  he  questioned,  gently. 

"  And  wondering  if  such  a  life  could  ever  be  led  here  again.** 

"  Heaven  forbid !  " 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  anxiously,  and  he  met  the 
gaze  with  one  of  fearless  confidence. 

"  I  have  no  fear,"  he  said ;  "  I  see  no  cloud  upon  old 
Myddelton's  home  now,  and  no  blight  upon  his  wealth." 

Then  she  smiled,  still  looking  up  into  his  face  ;  and 
somehow  it  seemed  as  if  that  gaze,  or  the  few  words,  had 
given  each  a  quiet  confidence  in  the  other. 


CHAPTER    X. 

He  little  thought,  when  he  set  out, 

Of  running  such  a  rig.  COWPEB. 

THE  tea-tables  had  been  hurriedly  carried  in  from  the  park 
to  the  great  hall,  and  the  guests  had  gathered  there  in  haste  ; 
those,  at  least,  whom  the  suddenly-lowering  clouds  had 
warned  in  time. 

"  It  was  very  lucky  we  were  so  near,"  said  Theodora, 
looking  down  cpmplacently  upon  her  thin,  crisp  dress. 

"  Very,"  assented  Phoebe,  with  most  heartfelt  emphasis  ; 
"  only  it  is  a  pity  Honor's  away." 

"  Is  Honor  away  ?  "  asked  Captain  Trent,  looking  out 
upon  the  fast-falling  rain.  "  What  a  bore  for  her  ! " 

"  Dear  me,  dear  me ! "  grumbled  Mrs.  Payte,  moving 
restlessly  about.  "  How  silly  of  the  child  to  run  off  in  that 
way,  with  no  waterproof,  or  goloshes,  or  umbrella  !  " 

One  or  two  laughed,  recalling  the  picture  of  Honor  as 
they  saw  her  last,  vv  her  pretty  summer  dress,  and  with  the 


106  OLD  MYDDELTON'B  MONEY. 

bright  sunshine  round  her  ;  but  others  were  too  much  vexed 
to  srnile. 

"Where  did  you  see  her  last,  Phoebe  ?"  inquired  Ladj 
Somerson.  And  everyone  waited  to  hear  the  answer. 

"I  saw  her  last  at  one  of  the  side  entrances,"  explained 
Phoabe.  "  I  knew  she  was  going  about  the  park  to —  to  hide 
from  Lawrence,  and  Lawrence  came  up  just  then  and  asked 
her  where  would  she  go,  and  she  said,  Nowhere  ;  and  as  soon 
as  ever  he  was  gone,  saying  he  would  be  back  in  a  minute, 
she  ran  off.  Afterwards  he  came  back  and  went  to  find 
her.  But  I  don't  suppose  he  has  :  Honor  is  so  quick." 

"  Miss  Owen,  if  you  will  kindly  tell  me  which  are  Miss 
Craven's  shawls  and  umbrella,"  said  Royden,  turning  over 
a  pile  of  wraps  which  lay  in  the  hall,  "  1  will  find  her." 

"I  think,"  interposed  Theodora,  in  a  raised,  distinct 
tone,  "  that  we  can  safely  trust  Honor  to  find  her  way 
here.  She  knows  the  park  well,  and  you  do  not,  Mr.  Keith." 

But  Hoyden  answered  lightly  that  he  was  used  to  finding 
his  way,  and  donning  his  loose  overcoat,  and  carrying  a 
close  umbrella  and  the  blue  waterproof  which  Phoebe  had 
given  him,  he  started.  He  had  a  strong  idea  that  Honor 
would  b.e  taking  shelter  in  that  hollow  oak  on  the  outskiits 
of  the  park,  and  though  he  had  no  motive  for  the  sunn  is*, 
he- was  not  mistaken.  In  the  sombre  gloom  within  the  bo!e 
of  the  great  oak,  he  saw  the  girl's  bright  face  looking  out, 
with  a  doubtful  expression  ;  as  if  the  enjoyment  of  the  posi- 
tion were  somewhat  questionable,  but  yet  to  be  staunchly 
maintained.  Royden,  smiling  at  the  wet  figure  in  its  heavy 
frame,  handed  her  the  cloak,  and  told  her  she  might  ven- 
ture to  the  house  in  that,  and  under  the  umbrella. 

"  I  am  not  coming,"  she  said  :  "  I  am  thoroughly  soaked. 
I  was  wet  through  before  I  could  reach  this  shelter,  and  I 
shall  be  scolded  and  laughed  at." 

"Let  me  help  you  on  with  your  cloak,"  was  Roy 'en's 
only  response,  as  he  held  it  at  the  opening  of  the  tree. 
"  .No  one  will  see  anything  but  the  cloak.  May  I  come  in  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Honor,  drawing  back.  "  I  won't  be  seen.  Go 
back  to  your  tea,  Mr.  Keith  ;  and  presently,  when  you  are 
all  busy  starting,  I'll  Blip  up  and  take  my  place  ;  then  I 
thall  escape " 

She   stopped   suddenly,   but    Hoyden   guessed  what  she 


OLD   jaYDDELTOfl'S  MONET.  107 

wished  to  avoid.  It  was  not  difficult  for  him  to  imagine 
either  Miss  Haughtou's  corrections,  Miss  Trent's  sneers,  or 
Miss  Owen's  exclamations. 

''•  Very  well,  I  will  wait  for  you  here,"  he  said,  coolly,, 

So,  leaning  against  the  tree  in  silence,  he  waited,  while 
she  grew  gradually  uncomfortable  in  her  snug  retreat,  and, 
from  being  amused  at  seeing  him  there  in  the  rain,  grew 
vexed,  without  understanding  that  this  vexation  was  another 
name  for  anxiety. 

"  Your  hat  is  spoiling,  Mr.  Keith,"  she  said  at  last,  with 
a  sense  of  injury  upon  her. 

"Is  it?" 

He  took  it  off  and  examined  it  leisurely,  while  the  rain 
fell  heavily  and  slowly  upon  his  uncovered  head — such  a 
handsome  head  ! 

"  It  will  bear  a  little  more,"  he  added,  replacing  it. 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  back,"  she  began  again,  presently; 
"  I'm  quite  comfortable,  but  you  are  not." 

"  I  think  I  have  the  better  position,"  maintained  Eoyden, 
coolly.  "  Your  atmosphere  has  a  mustiness  about  it  which 
I  do  not  envy."  Another  pause. 

"  Do  go  !  "  exclaimed  the  girl,  pettishly.  "  Everybody  will 
be  wondering  where  you  are,  and  there  will  be  such  a  fuss  !" 

"  I  like  a  fuss,"  said  Royden,  quietly  ;  "  and  so  do  you." 

"Indeed  I  don't  !"  asserted  Honor,  in  hot  haste.  "I 
cannot  bear  a  fuss.  What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Keith?" 
she  asked,  venturing  forward  a  little  in  her  den.  "  Whatmakea 
you  say  I  like  a  fuss  ?  " 

"  I  see  you  do." 

"  You  are  very  unjust ! "  cried  Honor,  rousing  herself 
into  a  state  of  wrath  which  she  all  the  time  knew  to  be 
utterly  childish.  "You  say  it  just  because  you  want  to 
be  in  the  house.  Please  to  go." 

"  I  will,"  said  Royden,  calmly,  "  when  I  want  to  be  in 
in  the  house." 

"  You  are  quite  wet,"  cried  Honor,  calming  down  a  little, 
and  feeling  very  small  and  powerless  to  impifss  him  in  any 
way  with  her  own  anger. 

'•  Yes.    Are  you  as  wet  ?  " 

"Oh,  much  wettpr,  of  course.  You  have  an  overcoat,  I 
bad  nothing  over  this  thin  dress." 


108  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY, 

A  look  of  anxiety,  swift  as  thought,  passed  over  Hoyden's 
face  ;  but  his  next  words  were  rather  more  leisurely  even 
than  they  had  been,  and  therefore  of  course  more  successful 

"  The  others  will  be  amused,  Miss  Craven,  to  see  you  in 
there.  Mr.  Haughton  is  coming  towards  us  now.  Don't 
etir  yet.  Captain  Trent  is  walking  in  this  direction  too 
NQW  you  may  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  a  fuss." 

Without  another  word  Honor  stepped  from  the  hollow 
tree — her  blue  cloak  failing  to  hide  the  linfp  appearance  of 
her  dress  and  spoiled  hat — and  coolly  Royden  took  his  place 
beside  her. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now  ?  "  he  inquired  presently,  glancing 
down  upon  her. 

"  Hungry,  thank  you." 

«'  I  wish  he  hadn't  come,"  she  said  to  herself,  petulantly  ; 
**  I  would  rather  any  one  else  had  found  me." 

Yet,  when  she  joined  them  all,  under  a  heavy  fire  of  sym- 
pathy and  astonishment  and  blame,  she  looked  up  into 
Royden's  quiet,  amused  face,  and — so  variable  is  a  woman's 
mind — wished  they  had  all  treated  the  matter  just  as  he  had. 

"  Oh,  Honor,  I'm  BO  glad  I  did  not  come  ! "  exclaimed 
Phffibe,  ruefully. 

"  So  am  I,"  returned  Honor,  pleasantly,  as  she  looked 
from  Phoebe's  showy  dress  down  to  her  own  wet  garments. 

"  This  sort  of  thing  adds  considerably  to  the  expense  of  a 
pic-nic,"  observed  Jane  Haughton. 

"  Don't  take  any  more  notice,  please,  Jane,"  whispered  the 
girl,  in  real  and  earnest  entreaty,  as  she  took  her  tea,  stand- 
ing ;  "  my  dress  was  not  new,  and  I  daresay  it  will  wash." 

"  Come,  Honor,"  put  in  Lawrence,  "  I  must  put  you  on 
more  than  that  cloak." 

"  I  don't  want  more,"  said  Honor,  shrinking  from  his 
touch.  "  Oh,  Lawrence,  how  I  do  hate  to  be  taken  care  of 
in  this  way !  "  she  added,  as  he  hovered  about  her.  *'  I  like 
to  be  forgotten.  It  is  such  a  relief  to  feel  that  nobody  knows 
or  cares  anything  about  one." 

Not  by  very  many  was  Honor  the  only  one  who,  in  im- 
patient youth,  has  felt  this  strongly,  because  the  care  they 
received  was  not  the  care  they  loved.  And  they  do  not  think 
that  there  may  come  a  time  when  all  such  random  words  will 
•ting  with  a  keen,  reproachful  memory. 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  105 

"  You  shall  have  a  dress  of  mine  when  we  reach  Deergrove, 
Honor,"  said  Theodora,  looking  with  placidity  on  the  girl's 
limp  figure.  "Oh,  Mr.  Keith,  see  how  wet  your  hat  is  !  it 
left  quite  a  little  pool  when  you  took  it  up0  That's  through 
Honor — how  vexatious  !" 

"  Most  vexatious,"  assented  Koyden,  looking  critically 
down  upon  the  wet  hat.  "As  an  Englishman,  this  disastej 
touches  me  in  a  sensitive  spot." 

"Are  yon  really  an  Englishman?"  inquired  Theodora, 
evidently  glad  of  this  vent  for  a  little  of  her  overflowing  but 
Buppressed  curiosity. 

"  Is  it  not  proved  by  my  anxiety  for  my  hat  ?  Hat- 
worship  belongs  to  no  other  nation.  Don't  you  notice  in 
England  how  a  man's  first  and  deepest  care  is  always 
bestowed  upon  his  hat  ?" 

"  Especially  in  church,"  added  Mr.  Hanghton,  flippantly, 
"  Before  he  seats  himself  he  breathes  into  it  a  prayer  for 
its  safety — and  that's  about  the  only  time  he  looks  really 
devout  through  the  service." 

"But  though  you  maybe  really  an  Englishman,  Mr.  Keith," 
persistedMiss  Trent,  "youmust  have  been  very  much  abroad." 

"Yes.  Don't  you  think,  Miss  Craven,  that  your  hat  is 
in  as  bad  a  plight  as  mine  ?  It  does  not  nearly  look  so  tall 
as  Miss  Owen's  now." 

"  Phosbe  thinks  a  hat  cannot  be  too  tall  for  her,"  remarked 
Mr.  Haughton,  superciliously. 

"Very  wise,  Miss  Phoebe,"  said  Royden,  gravely. 
"  Paddy's  tall  hat  was  the  means  of  saving  his  life,  if  you 
recollect.  A  bullet  passed  through  the  top  of  his  high  hat. 
'  There,'  said  Paddy,  complacently,  as  he  examined  the  hole, 
'if  I'd  had  a  low  hat,  that  bullet  would  have  gone  right 
through  my  head.'  "We  should  always  choose  tall  hats, 
shouldn't  we,  Miss  Owen  ?  " 

No  suspicion  crossed  the  mind  of  any  one  of  his  reason 
for  talking  thus. 

"  Honor,"  said  Mrs.  Payte,  when  the  rain  was  over,  and 
the  carriages  were  coming  round  to  the  door  in  the  gather- 
ing twilight,  "take  this  large  shawl  of  mine  ;  I  have  wrapi 
enough.  You  are  coming  with  us  in  Mr.  Keith's  dog-cart 
— you  and  Mr.  Homer.  Lady  Somerson  and  Mrs.  Komer 
are  snug  together  in  the  Somerson  carriage,  and  we  go  KG 


110  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONTY. 

fleetly  behind  those  beautiful  horses.  And  then,"  added  *ht 
little  lady,  betraying  her  motive,  "  you  cau  stop  at  Tbo 
Larches  and  change  your  dress." 

«'  Ch  !  no,"  said  Honor  ;  "  I " 

"  You  dare  not  venture — eh  ?  "  inquired  the  little  old  lady. 

w  Theodora  says  she  will  lend  me  a  dre-s,"  amended  the  girl. 
*  "  Yes,  so  she  will,"  remarked  Mrs.  Payte,  dryly,  "  and  a 
nice  baggy  old  thing  it  will  be.  Don't  I  see  how  she  is  en- 
joying the  idea  of  it  even  now  ?  She  won't  let  you  rival 
her  to-night,  child.  Never  mind,  there  is  a  beaut " 

"  Mrs.  Pnyte,"  put  in  Theodora,  appearing  at  that  moment, 
and  graciously  addressing  the  little  old  lady,  of  whose  very 
existence  she  had  all  day  endeavoured  to  be  unaware, 
"would  you  not  like  to  change  places  with  me  for  the  drive 
to  Deergrove  ?  You  will  meet  the  wind  in  the  seat  you 
occupied  in  coming,  whereas  mine  is  a  sheltered  seat." 

"This  is  a  thoughtful  idea,  of  yours,  Miss  Trent,"  re- 
turned the  old  lady,  meditatively,  "  nevertheless,  I  like  the 
seat  I  occupied  in  coming." 

"  But  you  would  be  so  comfortable  in  our  carriage." 

"  I  shall  be  comfortable  in  Mr.  Keirh's,  thank  you." 

"  It  is  so  chilly  to-night,"  urged  Theodora.  "  Had  you 
not  better  change  your  mind  ?  " 

"  No,  nor  my  place,"  said  the  little  lady,  emphatically. 
"  I  shall  drive  back  as  I  drove  here,  thank  you — behind  Mr. 
Keith's  splendid  horses,  and  side  by  side  with  him.  He  is  a 
clever  man,  and  we  get  on  admirably  ;  now  and  then  talking 
Shakespeare  and  the  musical  glasses,  and  now  and  then 
'cooing  and  billing,  like  Philip  and  Mary  on  a  shilling." 
No,  I  have  no  wish  for  a  change." 

Theodora's  head  was  at  a  lofty  elevation  when  she  turned 
away,  and  her  muttered  "  Odious  !  "  was  not  confined  to 
her  own  ears  alone. 

"Her  exertions  for  my  welfare  are  unselfish,"  observed 
Mrs.  Payte,  dryly,  "and  her  motive  inscrutable." 

"  Honor  Craven  was  so  bent  on  being  driven  by  yon,  Mr. 
Keith,"  remarked  Theodora,  as  he  assisted  her  into  her  car- 
riage, "  that  we  other  girls  had  no  chance  at  all,  even  if  we 
had  wished  it." 

"  Which  of  course,  Miss  Trent,  you  did  not." 

"  But  of  course  I  did,"  she  pouted,  declining  u>  see  that 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY,  111 

he  wished  to  drop  the  subject,  "  only  all  the  girls  are  not  so 
forward  as  Honor." 

"  Miss  Craven."  said  Royden,  with  proud  quietness,  "  ha» 
not  even  yet  consented  to  take  that  vacant  seat  in  my  dog- 
cart— I  wish  she  would." 

No  word  further  could  Theodora  say.  She  leaned  back  in 
her  corner  of  the  carriage,  and  during  the  drive,  hardly 
uttered  a  sentence,  either  to  her  mother  or  to  Hervey  ;  her 
only  consolation  being  the  thought  that,  in  the  garb  destined 
for  her,  Honor  Craven  would  present  a  spectacle  slightly  at 
variance  with  the  dainty  figure  which  she  had  always  mildly 
chafed  to  see  about  the  rooms  where  she  wished  to  reign, 
but  which,  since  she  had  known  Royden  Keith,  excited 
every  jealous  and  spiteful  passion  in  her  languid  nature. 

"  There — that  will  be  our  last  glimpse  of  Abbotsmoor  for 
a  time,"  said  the  Rector,  speaking  to  Honor  with  rather 
unusual  gravity,  as  the  dog-cart  rolled  smoothly  under  the 
trees  of  the  avenue  ;  "  it  is  a  beautiful  place,  and  I  hope 
the  tragedy  we  have  been  recalling  to-day  will  be  the  last  to 
throw  its  shadow  over  it." 

She  turned  and  looked  up  into  his  face,  surprised, 

"  Of  course  it  will  be  the  last,  Mr.  Roiner.  What  other 
could  there  be  ?  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  Rector,  in  a  thoughtful  tone,  ^vhich 
told  Honor  that  something  had  vexed  him  that  day,  "  there 
will  be  tragedies  enacted  so  long  as  jealousy  and  envy  are 
allowed  to  be  unbridled  passions.  Let  us  do  our  best  te 
keep  our  hearts  free  from  them." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

So  Love  does  raine 

In  stoutest  minds,  and  maketh  monstrous  warre, 
He  maketh  warre :  he  maketh  peace  againe, 
And  yet  his  peace  is  but  continuall  jarre ; 
0  miserable  men  that  to  him  subject  arre  ! 

SPETTSM. 

THE  daylight  had  quite  faded  when  the  picnic  party 
reached  Detrgrove,  and  the  rain  had  made  the  air  so  chilly 
that  they  were  not  sorry  to  see  fire*  in  the  handsome,  un« 
homely  rooms. 


112  OLD  MYDDELTON'8  MONET. 

"  Of  course  yon  must  change  yonr  dress,  Honor,"  re- 
parked  Theodora,  joining  her  in  the  hall.  "  Come  up  to  my 
room." 

Honor  was  not  there  long.  Almost  as  soon  as  the  other 
guests,  who  had  been  upstairs  only  to  wash  their  hands,  was 
she  down  again,  sipping  her  tea  at  the  drawing-room  fire  ; 
and,  of  all  the  involuntary  laughter  which  her  appearance 
provoked,  her  own  was  the  most  full  of  merriment, 
although  she  knew  there  was  many  a  dress  Theodora  might 
have  lent  her  of  which  the  misfit  or  unsuitableness  would 
have  been  scarcely  perceptible,  while  in  this  it  was  very 
painfully  so. 

"  Theodora,  my  dear,"  blandly  commented  Mrs.  Trent, 
levelling  her  glass,  "  how  odd  Honor  looks  in  that  dress  !  " 

Theodora  smiled  a  gentle  assent,  but  forbore  to  press  her 
advantage  just  then. 

Still,  Honor,  even  in  her  questionable  g  rb,  was  not  to  be 
repressed.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  she  had  determined  that, 
in  defiance  of  the  unpicturesque  and  unbecoming  dress,  she 
would  be  to-night  the  rival  whom  Theodora  fancied  she  had 
p>mihi!ated  ;  yet  such  an  intention  in  reality  was  far  from  her 
thoughts.  In  her  girlish  light-heartedness,  and  in  that 
intense  power  of  enjoyment  possessed  by  those  who  are 
endowed  with  a  keen  perception,  alike  of  the  beautiful  and 
the  ludicrous,  Honor's  merriment  was  real  merriment,  and 
therefore  infectious.  Random  she  might  have  been  in 
her  fun,  but  flippant  never  ;  nor  did  one  word  of  unkind- 
ness  pass  the  laughing  lips. 

"  I  like  to  see  young  people  capable  of  thoroughly  enjoy, 
ing  themselves,"  observed  Mrs.  Payte  to  the  Rector,  as  he 
joined  her  on  her  couch.  "Is  it  the  remnant  of  an  age 
that's  past,  or  is  it  the  foreshadowing  of  an  age  to  come  ? 
Look  at  Theodora  Trent,  the  model  of  this  age.  Why,  she 
might  have  been  in  her  present  position  for  a  hundred  years, 
for  any  freshness  it  possesses  for  her." 

"  The  age  does  very  well,"  said  the  Rector,  asserting  the 
truth  good-hnmouredly.  "  Honor  may  look  as  bored  and 
languid  as  Miss  Trent  when  she  has  been  in  society  as  long." 

"  Watch  Mr.  Haughton  throwing  straws  against  the 
wind,"  said  the  little  old  lady,  after  a  pause.  "  He  was  mad 
with  Honor  just  now,  and  when  he  had  spoken  to  her  lie 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  116 

took  np  a  book  to  pretend  to  read,  and  his  hand  shook  as  I 
only  fancied  a  man's  hand  could  shake  in  a  rrovel.  I'm  glad 
to  see  that  Hervey  Trent  looks  more  in  his  element  here 
than  he  did  about  the  rooms  at  Abbotsmoor." 

"  Probably  because  the  carpets  were  up  at  Abbotsmoor," 
laughed  the  Eector.  "  Trent  is  pre-eminently  a  carpet- 
knight." 

"  Pre-eminently,"  repeated  Mrs.  Payte,  her  shrewd  eyes 
following  Captain  Hervey's  slight,  inert  figure,  "  and  I  re- 
member an  old  Spanish  proverb  which  says  a  soldier  nau 
better  smell  of  gunpowder  than  musk." 

"  Theodora,  my  dear,"  spoke  Mrs.  Trent,  acting  as 
prompted  by  her  daughter,  and  as  cleverly  as  long  practice 
could  make  her,  "  can  we  not  have  a  little  music  ?  Suppose 
you  set  the  example." 

Theodora  demurred,  of  course  ;  but,  when  her  mother's 
request  had  been  backed  anxiously  by  others,  she  took  her 
seat  at  the  piano  with  slow  grace,  and  waited  for  a  few 
seconds  with  folded  hands,  as  if  for  an  inspiration.  But 
Miss  Trent  knew  well  what  she  intended  to  sing  before  ner 
mother's  request  had  been  uttered. 

After  her  performance  Captain  Hervey  acceded  to  the 
general  demand  for  one  of  his  songs,  and  went  through  it 
very  creditably.  Then — for  neither  Mr.  nor  Miss  Haughtou 
understood  a  note  of  music — Phoebe  was  prevailed  upon 
to  delight  the  audience  with  her  two-hundredth  rendering 
of  a  certain  reverie,  whose  gliding  course  halted  a  good  deal 
ander  her  plurnp  little  fingers,  and  whose  dreamy  train  of 
thought  was,  to  say  the  least,  jerky  ;  but  it  was,  cf  course, 
pronounced  a  pretty  thing — when  over. 

"  Miss  Craven,  do  you  not  sing  ?  " 

Mr.  Keith,  in  the  very  middle  of  Theodora's  coaxing 
demand  for  a  song,  had  turned  to  the  girl  whom  Miss  Trent 
had  hitherto  ignored. 

"  I  am  not  a  good  singer,"  said  Honor,  in  her  frank, 
oright  way  ;  "  I  have  always  been  more  fond  of  trying  new 
Aiusic  than  of  carefully  practising." 

"You  read  music  very  easily,  then  ?"  he  asked,  smiling, 

"Yes,  that  is  easy  to  me  ;  but- " 

"  But  you  will  sing  with  me  ?  " 

•*  Now,  Mr.  Keith,"  pleaded  Miss  Trent,  from  the  musio 


114  OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

stool  beside  them,  "  please  come  ;  I  am  going  to  accompany 
you." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Royden,  a  great  deal  more  heartily 
than  he  would  have  said  it  two  minutes  before,  "  I  am 
ready  ;  and  Miss  Craven  is  going  to  sing  too.  We  will  have 
the  first  duet  we  find." 

As  he  spoke,  he  took  up  a  copy  of  Faust,  and  opened  at 
an  early  duet  between  Faust  and  Marguerite — a  duet  which 
is,  perhaps,  not  in  that  opera  alone,  but  in  all  operas,  un- 
equalled in  its  graceful  tenderness  and  its  intense  love. 

The  guests  were  silent,  and  some  of  them  gathered  about 
the  piano,  listening  in  rapt  astonishment. 

"  One  more  ! "  cried  Lady  Somerson  and  the  Rector  in 
a  breath,  when  the  last  notes  had  died  away.  "  One  more 
duet  from  the  same  opera  !" 

Royden  turned  the  leaves,  and  asked  Honor  if  she  would 
sing  the  one  to  which  he  pointed.  She  nodded  brightly, 
and  Theodora,  reading  the  rather  difficult  accompaniment 
with  moody  intentness,  began  again.  There  was  no  pathetic 
tenderness  in  this  music,  only  the  pathos  of  a  wild  and 
passionate  despair ;  and  when  the  last  note  had  ceased, 
Honor  felt  a  sudden  heavy  sadness  seize  her. 

"  I  wish,"  she  thought  to  herself,  with  inexplicable  long- 
ing, "  that  we  had  snug  that  first.  I  wish  the  other  had  come 
last.  That  was  so  beautiful  and  happy — this  is  so  sorrowful! " 

Of  course  Theodora  insisted  on  Mr.  Keith's  singing 
duets  with  her  afterwards,  while  Honor  was  very  glad  to  sit 
apart  unnoticed  :  and  when  at  last  Royden  sang  alone  the 
exquisite  tenor  solo,  "Versa  nel  mio" — so  much  more 
beautiful  and  tender,  if  well  sung  to  a  piano,  than  it  is  upon 
the  stage — she  bent  her  head  upon  the  book  she  pretended 
to  read,  and  silenced  Hervey,  almost  with  a  sob,  when  he 
began  whispering  to  her.  But  when  all  the  music  was 
over,  the  mood  left  her. 

"Honor" — it  was  some  little  time  after  this,  and  Mr? 
Payte  had  caught  the  girl  standing,  gazing  silently  at  Theo- 
dora and  her  mother — "  what  are  you  puzzling  over  ?  " 

"  I  was  wondering,"  Honor  answered,  without  hesitation, 
"  how  I  should  entertain  if  I  were  rich — at  least,  how  1 
ghould  try  to  do  it.  What  a  silly  idea  it  was  ! "  added  the 
girl,  with  sudden  recol1 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  I  1  5 

"Very  Billy,"  acknowledged  the  old  lady,  speaking  so 
loudly  that  the  colour  mounted  in  Honor's  face.  "  But,  by 
the  way,  that  reminds  me  that  I  have  a  little  fortune-teller 
upstairs,  in  my  satchel.  Mrs.  Disbrowe — poor  thing !  all  her 
little  vagaries  are  excusable — made  it,  and  asked  me  to  bring 
it  to  amuse  you.  All  I  want  to  know  is,  who's  to  believe 
it  ?  You'll  see  how  inappropriate  the  mottoes  are  sure  to  he. 
Fetch  it,  Honor,  and  let's  see  what  it  tells  us.  This  is  the 
sort  of  time  to  be  silly,  if  one  ever  should  be." 

"Oh,  yes,  let's  have  our  fortunes  told,"  cried  Phoebe, 
ecstatically,  while  Honor  ran  upstairs. 

"  Yes,  certainly  our  fortunes,"  seconded  Theodora,  with  a 
little  approach  to  energy.  "  Mr.  Keith,  you'll  have  yours 
told  ?  " 

"  Eemember,  I  do  not  make  the  mottoes,  or  quite  under- 
stand them,  or  at  all  believe  in  them,"  said  Mrs.  Payte,  as 
Honor  laid  the  satchel  in  her  lap.  "  I  brought  the  little 
fortune-teller  because  Selina  said  you  might  glean  an  atom 
of  fun  out  of  it." 

The  toy  which  the  old  lady  took  from  her  bag  was  a  doll 
dressed  gipsy-fashion,  in  the  folds  of  whose  many-coloured 
and  voluminous  paper  skirts  lurked  what  the  girls  looked 
upon  as  "  fortunes." 

She  laid  the  little  figure  on  her  knee,  as  she  sat  in  her  seat 
beside  the  fire,  and  made  the  young  people  wait  at  a  respect- 
ful distance.  She  had  in  her  hand  a  tiny  gold  pencil-case 
•which  she  used  now  and  then,  but  always  unobserved. 

"  Now,  who  comes  first  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Is  it  you,  Miss 
Trent  ?  " 

"  Yes.  You  can  tell  me  mine  first,  if  it  is  likely  to  be 
true." 

"  Suitable,  let  ns  say,"  amended  the  old  lady,  without 
glancing  up.  "You  have  the  first  choice  of  the  numbers. 
There  are  but  nine  here  altogether,  so  they  will  but  just  go 
round." 

"  I  choose  number  one,"  said  Theodora,  with  her  slow, 
conscious  sraile. 

"  Number  one,"  repeated  Mrs.  Payte,  very  deliberately, 
as  she  pulled  out  a  dark  blue  fold  of  the  many-coloured 
ekirts.  "  This  is  what  is  said  on  number  one  :  '  The  hearts 
of  old  gave  hands,  but  our  mw  heraliru  is  hands,  not  hearts.' 


118  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

I  really  do  not  know,"  continued  the  old  lady,  still  withont 
looking  up,  "  what  poet  Selina  has  taken  that  from,  but  }t.a 
see  how  inapplicable  it  is,  don't  yon  ?  Am  1  to  read  any 
more  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes,  please,"  cried  Phcebe,  while  one  or  two  of  the 
others  were  silent,  wondering  over  Theodora's  choice. 

"  Then  you  choose,"  said  Mrs.  Payte,  looking  observantly 
up  into  Phoebe's  face,  "  any  number  from  two  to  nine." 

"  Seven,"  called  Phoebe,  with  an  excited  little  clasp  of  her 
hands  ;  "  seven  is  lucky,  you  know." 

"  Seven,"  echoed  the  fortune-teller,  drawing  ont  a  pink 
fold.  "This  is  what  is  written  on  seven  :  '  //  is  in  woman 
as  in  soils — there  is  a  vein  of  gold  sometimes  which  tfa 
owner  wots  not  of.'  That's  an  idea  of  Swift's,  if  1  remember 
rightly.  What  do  yon  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  call  that  a  fortune,"  said  Phoebe,  ruefully. 

"  Now,"  continued  Mrs.  Payte,  emi ling  as  she  refolded 
the  pink  paper,  "  who  comes  next  ?  You,  Miss  Haughton  ? " 

"  No,  indeed." 

"Yes,  please,  Miss  Haughton,"  nrged  Hoyden,  in  hie 
pleasant  tones  ;  "let  us  all  take  our  turn." 

"I  think  it  nonsense,"  returned  Jane,  coldly  ;  "  but  if  I 
must  be  as  foolish  as  all  the  others,  I'll  say  nine." 

"  Nine — nine — I  can  hardly  read  nine,"  muttered  the  old 
lady,  bending  over  a  yellow  fold.  "  It  is  a  couple  of  lines 
from  Tennyson — 

"  Dark  is  the  world  to  thee — 
Thyself  art  the  reason  why. 

I  suppose,"  she  muttered,  "  it  isn't  to  be  expected  that  any 
single  one  will  be  appropriate.  Now,  Honor,  it  is  your 
turn.  Of  oourse  yours  won't  be  suitable  either.  S:u:-kl 
institution,  isn't  it  ?  Choose  your  number — any  one  from 
two  to  eight,  except  seven,  which  is  taken." 

"  Eight,  please.     What  colour  is  it,  Mrs,  Payte  ?  " 
"  Don't  be  impatient  and  inquisitive,"  retorted  the  old 
lady,  glancing  shrewdly  up  into  the  girl's  bright  face,  as  she 
drew  out  a  strip  of  sky  blue  from  the  gipsy's  dress.     "  This 
is  all  there  is  to  read  to  you  : 

"  She's  beautiful,  and  therefore  to  be  wooed; 
She  is  a  woman,  therefore  to  be  won. 

A  bit  from  King  B<u**m  VI.     How  absurd  1 " 


OLD  MYPDELTON'S  MONEY.  117 

"Yes — very  absurd,"  said  Honor,"  laughing;  but  srie 
had  blushed  a  little  too,  when  she  had  met  the  eyes  of  Mr. 
Keith. 

"  What  a  hit!"  ejaculated  Captain  Trent  "Give  ma 
as  true  a  hit,  Mrs.  Payte.  I  say  number  three.  I  wonder 
no  one  has  chosen  number  three  before." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Payte,  absently^  drawing  out  • 
white  fold  of  the  thick  glazed  paper.  "  We  will  conclude — 
shall  we  ? — that  it  has  been  specially  reserved  for  you.  Here 
it  is.  Listen  :  '  /  am  not  settled  yet  in  any  stable  condition  ; 
but  lie  wind-bound  off  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  expecting  some 
gentle  gale  to  launch  me  out*  That's  a  quotation  fro-n 
Howell  ;  silly  man  to  lie  there,  eh  ? — wind-bound  off  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope." 

"  Perhaps  old  Myddelton's  money  has  that  to  answer  for," 
said  Honor,  in  a  tone  of  deep  consideration, 

"Why,  Honor,  you  baby,"  remarked  Theodora,  "you 
speak  as  if  this  rubbish  were  true.  Mr.  Keith,  ycu  will  not 
be  so  silly  as  to  try  any  number,  will  you  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  settle  to  anything,"  said  Royden,  with  gravity, 
"until  I  know  my  motto.  Please,  Mrs.  Payte,  give  me 
number  five." 

"  Yes,  you  can  have  five,"  assented  the  old  lady,  drawing 
out  a  crimson  paper  ;  "  but — but — let  me  see,  I  can  scarcely 
detect  the  meaning  of  this.  It  is  Byronic — Manfred,  I 
fancy — 

"  I  feel  the  impulse,  yet  I  do  not  plunge  ; 
I  feel  the  peril,  yet  do  not  recede ; 
And  my  brain  reels,  and  yet  my  foot  is  firm. 

"Why,  Mr.  Keith,"  cried  Theodora,  a  few  minutes  after- 
wards, "  how  silent  you  are  over  your  motto !  It  might  be 
your  destiny,  from  the  grave  look  upon  your  face." 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Payte,"  exclaimed  Phrebe,  "  please  read  Mr. 
Haughton's." 

"  Will  you  choose  your  number,  Lawrence  ?  "  said  Honor, 
rather  enjoying  the  idea  ;  and  at  her  words  he  chose  it. 

''  Number  six,  if  I  really  am  to  choose." 

"  Number  six,"  repeated  Mrs.  Payte,  musingly,  as  she 
ilowly — very  slowly — opened  a  green  paper.  '*  Dear  me, 
this  ia  all  that's  said  on  number  six — 


118  OLD  MYDDEIYTON'S  MOSEY. 

"  Love  he  comes,  and  Love  he  tarries, 
Just  as  fate  or  fancy  carries  — 
Longest  stays  when  sorest  chidden, 
Lauglis  and  tlies  when  pressed  and  biJden. 

I  have  heard  that  verse  before,  so  have  you,  of  course.  Well, 
is  that  all  ?  » 

"  I  am  going  to  choose  a  number  for  Mrs.  Payte  herself," 
said  the  Rector,  laughing  ;  "  and  by  that  we  shall  judge  how 
true  her  axioms  are.  Now,  Mrs.  Payte,  I  choose  four  for 
you  ;  please  read  it." 

The  old  lady  opened  a  brown  fold  of  paper,  and  bent  to 
read,  with  her  eyes  fall  of  laughter. 

"  This  is  rather  trying,"  she  said,  looking  sharply  up  into 
the  surrounding  faces.  "  This  is  what  it  says — 

"  Whether  she  knows  the  thing  or  no, 
Her  tongue  eternally  will  go, 
For  she  has  impudence  at  will. 

To  begin  with,  it  is  a  distortion  of  Gay's  lines,  which  were 
originally  applied  to  the  masculine  gender  ;  and  to  end  with, 
its  inapplicability  is  as  apparent  as  in  the  other  cases.  For 
goodness'  sake,  burn  the  creature,  some  of  you  1  " 

"  Mrs.  Payte,"  asked  Honor,  a  suspicion  darting  across 
her  mind,  "  are  the  numbers  really  there  ?  " 

The  old  lady  raised  her  head,  and  eyed  Honor  sternly. 

"  Of  course  they  are  there.    Take  it  and  see." 

She  was  quite  right  ;  the  verses  exactly  answered  to  the 
numbers  everyone  had  chosen  ;  and  it  never  entered  into 
Honor's  head  to  conjecture  when  the  pencilled  figures  had 
been  added  over  the  quotations.  "  Thank  you,"  she  said, 
handing  back  the  toy  ;  "  it  is  very  odd." 

"  Honor,"  interposed  Theodora,  evidently  tired  of  the 
subject,  "  we  are  going  to  dance  now..  You  are  fond  of 
performing  dance  music,  so  I  suppose  you  will  play  first." 

Honor  took  her  seat  at  the  piano,  and  at  once  struck  up  a 
valse.  Mr.  Keith,  as  in  duty  bound,  offered  his  arm  to 
I'heodora. 

On  and  on  went  Honor,  until  her  fingers  ached  ;  then  she 
stopped  with  a  rich,  swift  chord,  and  turned  on  her  stool, 
smiling,  to  picture  the  sudden  stop  ;  but  Theodora  and  her 
partner  were  the  only  two  who  had  kept,  up  so  long  as  the 
music. 


OLD   3TYT>r>ELTON'S  MONET.  119 

"  How  spiteful  of  you  !"  whispered  Miss  Trent,  coming 
np  to  her  alone.  "  You  stopped  because  I  was  enjoying  it." 

"  I  thought  everyone  was  enjoying  it — except  me,"  said 
Honor,  naively  ;  but  my  wrists  gave  way." 

<J  Will  you  dance  now,  Miss  Craven  ?  " 

Theodora  turned,  her  eagerness  evident  through  all  her 
studied  composure. 

"  You  will  offend  Honor  if  you  take  her  away  from  the 
piano,  Mr.  Keith.  Her  musical  strength  lies  in  dances." 

"And,  in  singing,  as  Marguerite,"  added  Royden,  with  a 
imile  into  Honor's  eyes. 

"  Oh,  I  did  that  very  badly,"  said  Honor,  turning  swiftly 
away  ;  "  I  will  do  this  better." 

And  without  another  moment's  pause,  she  played  the 
opening  bars  of  the  Lancers.  Then  followed  other  dances, 
tind  still  Honor  was  allowed  to  keep  her  seat  at  the  piano. 
Once  or  twice  Lawrence,  in  his  stiff,  stern  way,  proposed 
that  some  one  else  should  take  a  turn  ;  but  not  very  eagerly, 
for  he  did  not  care  to  dance,  and  he  could  be  more  sure  of 
having  her  near  him  while  she  played.  Once  or  twice  Cap- 
tain Trent  sauntered  to  her  side,  and  whispered  what  a  coo' 
thing  it  was  of  Theodora  ;  but  he  had  not  the  courage  to 
venture  this  remark  to  Miss  Trent  herself,  so  its  only  effect 
was  a  comical  expression  from  Honor  as  she  played  on. 
Once  or  twice  the  Rector  took  Phoebe  to  the  piano  and  pro- 
posed a  division  of  labour,  but  Honor  knew  how  Phoebe 
bungled  over  dance  music,  and  so  she  only  nodded  smilingly, 
and  still  played  on.  And  once  Mr.  Keith,  in  the  hearing  of 
all  in  the  room,  inquired  coolly  if  it  was  not  the  turn  of 
Borne  one  else  to  play. 

"  If  I  offered  to  play,"  explained  Theodora,  in  a  low  tone, 
"  Honor  would  not  let  me.  She  objects  to  dancing  in  boots 
that  are  not  her  own." 

"  I  see,"  said  Royden,  with  a  quizzical  gravity  in  his  eyes. 

But  in  another  moment  he  was  to  see  quite  the  opposite 
pide  of  the  picture.  Little  Mrs.  Payte  marched  up  to  the 
piano,  and  declared,  in  a  tone  which  there  was  no  gainsaying, 
that  Honor  would  much  oblige  her  by  resigning. 

"  I  never  heard  such  ugly  things  as  these  tunes  of  the 
present  day  ! "  she  said.  "  Let  me  show  you  what  was 
called  dance-music  when  I  was  young." 


120  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

Honor  rose  with  evident  relief  and  pleasure,  but  first  she 
looked  quesiioningly  into  the  old  lady's  face. 

"  Are  you  sure,  Mrs.  Payte,  that  you  do  not  say  it  because 
I  have  looked  tired  or  discontented  ?" 

"  Sure,"  she  rejoined,  tersely,  and  sat  down  at  once. 

Lawrence  rose  from  his  lounge  behind  the  piano. 

"You  will  dance  with  me,  Honor  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  so  brightly  and  readily  that  Hoyden 
"  saw  "  a  little  more  clearly  still  through  the  excuse  of  the 
boots. 

"  Honor,  how  odious  this  music  is  ! "  observed  Theodora 
pointedly,  when  the  valse  was  over.  "  I  cannot  dance 
to  it." 

"  Can  you  not  ?     Oh,  I  can ." 

Mrs.  Payte  was  far  more  determined  about  not  giving  up 
her  occupation  at  the  piano  than  even  Honor  had  been. 
She  sat  there,  tripping  through  the  old-fashioned  airs,  with 
her  wrists  very  much  elevated,  and  her  fingers  very  light 
upon  the  keys  ;  but  no  one  save  the  daughter  of  the  house 
uttered  a  word  against  the  performance. 

"  I  can  dance  merrily  to  those  quaint  old  airs — can't  you  ?" 
asked  Honor,  appealing  daringly  to  Theodora.  "And  I 
never  knew  anyone  keep  better  time  than  Mrs.  Payte.  How 
kind  it  is  of  her  !  " 

And  Honor  evidently  felt  every  word  she  said,  for,  in  all 
her  happy  excitement  and  restless  enjoyment,  she  never 
forgot  to  thank  the  old  lady,  and  offer  earnestly  to  relieve 
her. 

"  Go  on,"  nodded  the  little  pianist,  working  away  inde- 
fatigably.  "  I  like  it.  I  don't  intend  to  be  turned  out  in 
favour  of  your  new-fangled  style.  Go  on." 

Honor  indeed  went  on,  and  the  "brighter  and  merrier 
she  grew,  the  more  coldly  supercilious  were  the  glances 
bestowed  upon  her  by  Miss  Trent  ;  the  more  appalling  was 
Miss  Haughton's  gaze  of  disapproval  ;  the  more  Lawrence 
expanded  in  her  smiles  ;  the  more  Hervey  caught  himself 
up  in  his  corrections  and  lectures,  as  if  he  feared  her  sudden 
flight  from  their  midst ;  the  more  Phoebe  raised  her  eye- 
brows with  mild  astonishment ;  ihe  more  Mrs.  Trent  made 
languid  remarks  of  displeasure  at  "  girls  who  let  their 
spirits  run  away  with  them  ; :'  the  more  Lady  Somerson 


OLD  MYDDELTON'8  MONEY.  1J1 

Bailed  behind  her  hand-screen,  following  with  her  eyes  the 
light,  restless  figure,  which  was  so  beautiful,  despite  its  ill- 
fitting  dress ;  and  the  more  Royden  Keith  studied,  with 
quiet  amusement,  the  changing  face  of  this  girl,  who  seemed 
as  yet  to  possess  so  little  knowledge  of  the  world  which  had 
eet  its  seal  upon  his  thoughtful  face. 

"  You  do  not  often  see  girls  make  themselves  ridiculous, 
just  as  Honor  does  to-night,  do  you,  Mr.  Keith  ?  " 

Theodora  had  paused  beside  him  as  he  leaned  against  the 
chimney  watching  the  dancers — watching  one  especially,  as 
Miss  Trent  plainly  saw.  He  looked  down  and  answered 
her,  his  eyes  growing  full  of  fun  as  their  intentness  van- 
ished ;  he  looked  down  and  answered  her  truthfully,  but  as 
he  would  rather  have  died  than  answer  her,  if  he  could 
have  forseen  how  and  when  she  would  report  and  distort  hia 
words. 

"  Very  seldom." 

"  That  is  what  I  cannot  understand  in  Honor's  nature," 
continued  Theodora,  placidly  insinuating  the  wide  contrast 
in  her  own  ;  "  her  perfect  incapacity  for  any  serious  thought 
and  feeling.  She  is  rather  pretty,  and,  as  Hervey  says,  she 
is  amusing  sometimes  ;  but  she  is  not  at  all  one  yon  could 
faucy  at  the  head  of  an  establishment,  or,  indeed,  moving 
in  any  wider  range  of  society.  As  mamma  says  " — Theo- 
dora was  gaining  courage  from  the  uncontradicting  face— 
"  any  man  would  be  unwise  to  bestow  a  strong  affection 
upon  Honor,  if  he  expected  depth  of  affection  in  return  ;  do 
you  think  so  too  ?" 

"That  it  would  be  unwise  for  some  men  to  bestow  a 
strong  affection  upon  Miss  Craven  ?  Yes." 

It  was  at  this  moment,  just  as  Theodora  smiled  assent  to 
his  words,  that  Honor  herself  came  up  to  them,  with  Law- 
rence following  her  to  entreat  her  hand  for  the  next  dance. 

"  Honor,  you  are  making  yourself  rather  oddly  con- 
spicuous, are  you  not  ?  "  inquired  Theodora,  in  a  would-be 
whisper.  "  We  were  wondering  to  see  you." 

Honor  glanced  up  into  Boyden's  face  with  a  gaze  of  swift 
and  pained  inquiry,  while  the  soft  pink  deepened  in  her 
cheeks. 

"  Honor  bright." 

"  So  he  answered  qyi/etly,  with  his  rare  smile  ;  but,  when 


122  OLD   MYDDELTON'S   MONET. 

the  two  words  bad  been  thus  involuntarily  uttered,  a  dnsky 
flush  rose  in  his  face  ;  and  his  eyes,  meeting  hers,  asked 
pardon  for  the  jest.  No  one  had  noticed  her  blush,  or  the 
sudden  brightening  of  her  eyes,  but  everyone  could  see  that 
no  words  of  his  had  vexed  her. 

Lawrence  led  her  off  in  pride  again,  and  the  young  faco 
was  once  more  the  brightest  and  the  happiest  in  the  room. 
For  a  while  Lawrence  Haughton's  jealousy  lay  sleeping,  but 
his  sister  redoubled  the  keenness  of  her  watch,  and  Theodora 
redoubled  her  quiet  words  and  glances  of  contempt.  By 
force  of  contrast,  Miss  Trent  appeared  almost  genial  to  Jane 
and  Phoebe  that  night.  Jane  was  so  harmless  in  her  easy 
chair,  and  Phoabe  so  insignificant  in  her  small,  gushing 
amiability,  that  Theodora  Trent,  in  her  graciousness,  could 
ullnrd  to  patronise  these  two  unhurtful  guests  ;  only  re- 
paying herself  by  a  few  sleepy  words  of  jesting  contempt, 
uttered  now  and  then  beyond  their  hearing. 

Duly  Mr.  Keith  and  Captain  Trent  received  any  amount 
of  attention  from  the  daughter  of  their  hostess,  and,  though 
Hervey  was  quite  aware  of  the  inferior  quality  and  quantity 
dealt  out  to  him,  he  did  not  fret  over  it.  He  could  not,  just 
yet,  feel  any  unpleasant  consciousness  of  inferiority  in  the 
presence  of  his  possible  rival,  perhaps  from  the  fact  that 
Hervey  Trent  was  too  thoroughly  an  artificial  man  to 
appreciate  the  intense  reality  of  Rovden's  nature. 

"  Mr.  Keith  "—little  Mrs.  Pajte,  from  her  seat  at  the 
piano,  without  turning  her  head,  called  him  as  he  passed 
near,  and  he  paused,  standing  beside  her ;  it  was  a  lull 
between  the  dances,  and  her  fingers  were  striking  only  a 
few  idle  chords — "  were  you  going  to  ask  Honor  to  dance  ? " 

"  No." 

"  Why  not  ?  Because  of  that  clumsy  dress  Theodora 
chose  to  lend  her,  or  the  boots  that  do  not  fit  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  rather  gravely,  following  the  moving 
fingers  on  the  keys,  "  not  fcr  that  reason." 

"  She  is  as  pretty  in  her  ugly  gown,"  resumed  the  old 
lady,  energetically,  "  as  Theodora  in  her  falbala." 

"  Falbala  !  "  he  echoed,  laughing.  "  How  strange  to 
hear  that  word  !  I  heard  it  last  in  Spanish  America." 

"  It's  a  common  enough  word,"  rejoined  the  old  lady, 
testily,  "  among  those  who  are  not  solely  English.  It  belongs 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  123 

to  Spain  and  Italy  and  France — don't  fancy  it  peculiar  to 
South  America,  pray — and  it  is  more  natural  to  me  than 
Ihe  stupid,  distorted  word  '  furbelows,'  which  these  girls 
use.  Isn't  it  sad,"  she  added,  with  a  quick  change  of  tone, 
and  a  keen,  upward  glance,  to  see  Honor  Craven  exciting 
herself  so  childishly,  in  spite  of  Captain  Trent's  repeated 
reprimands  ?  " 

"  Captain  Trent  is  not  wearing  himself  out,"  said  Royden, 
in  a  leisurely  tone.  "  Captain  Trent  is  one  of  those  lucky 
individuals  who  are  able  to  stroll  through  life." 

"  And  they  are  the  wisest,  too,"  asserted  Mrs.  Payte,  with 
unmistakable  emphasis.  "  Why  should  men  gallop  through 
life — as  some  do  ?  " 

"  Or  trip  through  it,  as  SOIPP  women  do  ?  "  said  Royden, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Or  stalk  through  it,  as  some  other  women  do  ?  "  added 
the  little  old  lady,  with  a  sly,  swift  glance  at  Miss  Haughtou. 
"  Have  you  asked  her  to  dance  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  asked  Miss  Haughton,  and  she  refused  me,  as  you 
did." 

"  For  my  reason,  probably.  One  evening  of  dancing  would 
leave  me  like  the  Dutch,  skipper,  who  came  home  so  thin 
that  his  wife  and  his  sister  could  not  both  look  at  him  at 
the  same  time." 

"  Ten  minutes  ago,"  she  presently  resumed,  playing  a 
little  louder,  "I  heard  Miss  Haughton  wondering  to  Miss 
Trent  why  she  invited  that  disagreeable  little  Mrs.  Payte 
here.  And  on  whom  do  you  think  our  hostess  laid  the 
iniquity  ?" 

"  On  me,  if  she  did  me  justice,"  said  Royden,  plea- 
santly. 

"  Yes  ;  on  you.  I  was  your  guest  for  the  day,  she  said  ; 
and  I  of  course  was  obliged  to  be  invited.  How  do  you 
feel  ?  " 

"  Decidedly  better." 

"  Then  now  you  are  going  to  ask  Honor  Craven  to  dance 
this  valse  ?"  I  remember  a  tune  that  will  send  her  feet 
flying,  even  in  big  boots." 

"  Why  do  you  wish  it  ?  "  he  asked,  rather  gravely,  as  hii 
e^  "s  went  swiftly  across  the  room  in  their  search  for  Honor. 

"  For  two  reasons.    She  is  a  good  dancer — old  we  men  ar« 


124  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

not  always  BO  blind  as  you  imagine — and  I  want  you  to 
have  one  thoroughly  pleasant  dance  before  we  go.  Honor's 
height  will  just  suit  you.  Go  and  try." 

He  turned  at  once  and  went,  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  her  in 
her  distant  corner,  and  a  great  pleasure  and  anticipation  in 
their  depths.  He  came  up  to  her  just  as  she  stood,  alone  and 
quite  still,  against  the  open  door  ;  and  he  saw  that  her  face 
for  that  moment  lost  its  brilliant  merriment,  and  her  beau- 
tiful eyes  were  full  of  quiet  thought. 

"  Are  you  very  tired  ?  " 

He  spoke  quietly,  but  his  voice  scattered  the  thought  in 
a  moment. 

"  No,  not  tired,"  she  said,  and  simply  and  unaffectedly 
8he  put  her  hand  within  his  proffered  arm. 

"  This  is  the  last  dance,  I  believe.  Will  you  give  it  to  me?" 

She  only  smiled  without  a  word,  and  they  took  their 
places.  It  was  a  long  valse  :  Mrs.  Payte's  busy  fingers  went 
from  one  old  air  to  another  untiringly  ;  yet  among  all  the 
dancers,  strange  to  say,  it  was  Honor  who  stopped  first — 
Honor  who  had  seemed  so  restless  and  unwearying. 

"I  had  no  idea  I  was  so  tired,"  she  said,  her  hand 
trembling  in  his  clasp  ;  "  let  us  stop  now." 

Hoyden  looked  down,  an  anxious  surprise  in  his  eyes. 

"  Was  it  painful  to  you  to  dance  with  me  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  and  laughed.  It  was  a  gesture  of 
curious  self-reproach,  and  the  laugh  was  a  little  forced. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  "  but — I  do  not  know  how  it  was — 
there  came  a  sudden  pain  ;  swift  enough,  for  it  is  gone 
now  ;  but  it  was  heavy  and  miserable,  like  a  foreboding." 

"  Rest  for  a  moment  here  at  the.  window.  See  what  a 
beautiful  night  it  is  !  " 

She  heaved  a  soft  little  sigh,  possibly  in  her  relief 
because  he  had  not  laughed  at  her  childish  and  almost 
inperstitiuus  idea,  possibly  in  thorough  enjoyment  of  the 
rest  and  calna. 

The  dancing  for  a  long  time  went  on  behind  them,  as  they 
etood  in  silence  looking  out  on  the  dim  autumn  night,  bat 
it  stopped  at  last. 

"  Are  you  rested  ?    Are  you  quite  rested  ?  " 

As  he  spoke,  he  touched  the  hand  that  lay  upon  his  arm,  and 
the  looked  up  with  a  smile  to  meet  his  questioning  eyes. 


JLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  121 

"  Quite  rested,  and  that  pain  is  gone." 

He  did  not  answer,  but  she  knew  that  some  strong  emo- 
tion which  she  could  not  fully  comprehend,  found  utterance 
in  that  one  slow,  long-drawn  breath. 

The  valse  was  over,  and  Mrs.  Payte's  shrewd  eyes  were 
turned  from  the  piano.  She  saw  the  dancers  separate  and 
mingle  with  the  other  occupants  of  the  room,  breaking  then 
into  groups  of  twos  and  threes,  with  here  and  there  perhaps 
one  solitary  figure  left  out,  as  was  her  own  just  then ; 
though  the  brisk  little  old  lady  did  not  give  that  fact  the 
faintest  shadow  of  regret.  She  took  her  isolation  so  little 
to  heart  that  she  found  herself  able  to  cull  a  racy  amuse- 
ment, as  usual,  from  the  remarks  which  her  keen  ears  re- 
ceived in  an  illicit  manner. 

"  What  makes  you  look  so  absent,  Honor  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  absent,"  said  the  girl,  turning  her  head  from 
Lawrence  Haughton  when  he  joined  her  with  these  words. 

"  I  said  you  looked  absent,  which  is  true." 

"  What  does  it  signify  bow  I  look  ?  "  she  asked,  appeal- 
ing to  him  with  a  sadness  underlying  her  impatience.  "  I 
wish  you  would  not  look  at  me,  Lawrence — why  should 
you?" 

"  Let  me  look  at  whom  I  may,"  he  answered,  moodily, 
"  it  is  always  you  I  see  ;  and  that  sudden  thoughtful  fit  after 
your  last  valse  was,  to  say  the  least,  unlike  you,  Honor, 
ind " 

"  Now  I  must  go  and  thank  Mrs.  Payte  for  playing  for 
me." 

"  For  you  ? "  rejoined  Mr.  Hanghton,  sulkily.  "  The 
thanks  are  due  from  Theodora  and  her  mother.  Leave  it  to 
them,  Honor." 

'1  Trust  Honor  to  make  acquaintance  readily  with  low 
people,"  remarked  Theodora  to  Captain  Trent,  as  she 
sauntered  with  him  up  to  where  her  mother  sat.  "  Doesn't 
she  look  absurd,  laying  herself  out  to  that  old — to  that 
extent  ?  "  corrected  Miss  Trent,  uncomfortably  conscious  of 
Hoyden's  presence. 

"Yes — oh  yes,  of  course,"  assented  Captain  Hervey, 
obeying  vepy  readily  his  cousin's  command  to  look  at  iionor. 
"  She  looks  pretty,  doesn't  she  ?  Very  pretty.  But  ol 
course  you  are  right,  Theo*" 


126  01 J)  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Beal  up  your  lips,  and  give  no  words,  but— mnm. 

Henry  VI. 

THE  offices  of  Messrs.  Carter  &  Haughton,  solicitors,  were 
opposite  the  Royal  Hotel,  in  the  most  important  street  in 
Kinbury.  The  situation  was  as  decidedly  the  best  situation 
in  the  town  for  a  lawyer's  office,  as  Air.  Haughton  was 
himself  the  most  prosperous  lawyer ;  and  the  rooms  were  so 
furnished  and  arranged  as  to  give  the  visitor  an  impressive 
idea  of  the  wide  and  select  practice  of  the  firm.  Not  that 
Lawrence  Haughton  had  any  partner  now,  but  among  the 
old  clients  Mr.  Haughton's  offices  were  still  the  offices  of  the 
firm,  and  Lawrence  Haughton  himself  but  a  representatire 
of  it. 

These  offices  consisted  of  three  rooms.  A  small  one  on 
the  ground-floor,  furnished  with  a  huge  double  desk,  two 
high  stools,  two  maps,  two  odd  chairs,  and  two  jocular  and 
rather  idle  clerks,  who  spent  six  hours  of  everyday  chatting 
together,  and  between  whiles  either  performed  in  an  upright 
hand  upon  Lawrence  Haughton's  foolscap,  or  drewnp,  with 
elaborate  care,  essays  and  notes,  to  be  read,  amid  great 
applause,  at  the  meetings  of  the  Kinbury  Young  Men's 
Literary  Association. 

At  the  top  of  the  short  flight  of  stairs,  two  rooms  opened 
on  a  lobby,  and  the  one  to  the  back  of  the  house  was  Mr. 
Slimp's  office,  a  room  in  which  that  pallid  little  gentleman 
conducted  his  own  business  as  well  as  his  employer's,  and 
very  much  subdued  the  spirits,  while,  assisting  in  the  legal 
education,  of  Mr.  Haughton's  articled  clerks.  This  was  by 
no  means  an  uncomfortable  or  meanly  furnished  room  ;  nor 
was  Bickerton  Slimp  ignorant  of  the  art  of  taking  his  ease 
there,  while  he  hatched  his  mean  and  petty  plans  ;  but  the 
Banctum  of  the  lawyer  himself  was  Mr.  Slimp's  favourite 
resting-place,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  day  after  the  pic- 
nic at  Abbotsmoor  he  was  standing  there  on  the  rug,  with 
an  appearance  as  nearly  approaching  to  ease  and  at-homeness 
as  it  was  in  the  power  of  his  small  and  angular  person  to 
casnme. 

This  private  office  of  Mr.  Haughton's  wae  a  large  front 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  127 

room  overlooking  the  vestibule  of  the  Royal  Hotel  opposite, 
and  no  one  glancing  round  it  could  fail  to  be  impressed  by 
the  apparently  limitless  extent  of  the  business  entrusted  to 
Lawrence  Haughton,  solicitor.  How  many  secrets  he  mast 
have  held  in  his  grasp,  touching  the  well-known  names  so 
prominently  displayed  !  How  much  he  must  have  known 
of  those  families  which  Kinbury — with  a  wide  appreciation 
of  ancestry — called  its  "  good  families  !  "  And,  beyond 
that,  how  evident  it  was  that  he  had  in  his  keeping  money 
as  well  as  secrets.  Yet  the  clients,  looking  ever  so  closely, 
could  detect  no  sign  of  lavish  or  needless  expenditure  ;  and 
shrugging  their  shoulders,  would  pronounce  Lawrence 
Haughton  a  true  Myddelton  at  heart,  posse-sing  inherently 
the  old  man's  talent  of  amassing  wealth— this  being  no 
means  an  unpleasant  reflection  for  those  whose  fortunes  were 
in  his  hands. 

Lawrence  Haughton  had  pushed  his  round-backed  chair 
from  the  writing-table,  and  leaning  back,  with  his  elbows 
on  the  arms,  he  began  to  fold  and  unfold  an  empty  envelope, 
an  unmistakeable  sign  that  his  conversation  with  his  chief 
clerk  was  over.  Mr.  Slimp  had  made  a  movement  to  retire 
— a  quite  unusual  proceeding  with  him  unless  his  master 
had  shown  this  sign  of  having  done  with  him. 

"  No  evidence,  you  are  quite  sure,  of  such  a  name  having 
ever  been  upon  the  records  ? "  repeated  Mr.  Haughton, 
some  suppressed  excitement  stirring  his  harsh  tones. 

"  No  proof  at  all,  sir.  A  young  Royden  Sydney  wa§ 
called  to  the  bar  in  1859,  but  he  left  the  profession  within 
a  year." 

"  That's  no  evidence,"  retorted  Mr.  Haughton,  curtly  ;  "  I 
found  that  out  a  week  ago." 

"  That  is  the  only  mention  of  such  a  Christian  name," 
continued  Mr.  Slimp,  in  his  peculiar  tones  of  mingled 
deference  and  assurance.  "  As  for  the  surname,  there  have 
been  several  Keiths,  but  not  one  since  1859." 

"  Then  this  journey,"  put  in  Mr.  Haughton,  impatiently 
"  has  given  you  no  further  clue  ?  You  tell  me  now  only 
exactly  what  you  told  me  on  Tuesday  night,  when  you 
returned  from  London." 

"  That  is  all  I  have  been  able  to  discover,  sir." 

Lawrence  was  silent  tor  a  minute,  absently  folding  and 


128  OLD  HYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

refolding  the  paper  in  his  hands,  and  seeing  nothing  of  his 
clerk's  wily  glance  into  his  brooding  lace.  Suddenly  recol- 
lecting himself,  as  it  seemed,  he  wheeled  his  chair  before  his 
writing-table  again,  and,  nodding  towards  the  door,  took 
up  his  pen. 

Mr.  Slimp  walked  softly  across  the  carpeted  floor,  and 
closed  the  door  behind  him,  without  a  sound.  He  should 
be  summoned  again,  he  knew,  when  any  further  plans  wer» 
to  be  mooted. 

Half  an  hour  after  this,  Mr.  Haughton  opened  the  door 
of  his  chief  clerk's  office. 

"  I  shall  be  out  for  ten  minutes,"  he  said,  "  not  more." 

He  did  not  glance  in  at  the  lower  office  as  he  passed,  but 
the  two  clerks  heard  his  step,  and  looked  out  to  see  which 
way  he  went;  more  for  the  diversion  of^a  gaze  into  the 
street,  than  for  any  lively  interest  they  felt  in  the  lawyer's 
proceedings. 

"  Into  the  Eoyal  Hotel  !    What's  up  ?  " 

"  Bitter  beer." 

But  it  was  no  order  for  bitter  beer  which  Mr.  Haughton 
gave,  as  he  walked  into  the  vestibule  of  the  Royal  Hotel. 

"  Is  Mr.  Keith  within  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  waiter. 

Now  hotel  waiters  are,  as  a  rule,  quick  and  observant  ; 
and  the  man  to  whom  the  lawyer  addressed  this  question 
was  no  exception.  While  he  answered  politely,  "  1  believe 
he  is,  sir,  but  I  will  fetch  his  servant,"  he  was  cogitating 
to  himself  in  a  very  different  strain.  "  Lawyer  Haughton 
hasn't  put  on  that  friendly  air  for  nothing.  He's  never  been 
over  to  eee  Mr.  Keith  before,  and  these  aren't  his  usual 
grim  tones." 

He  cast  one  more  keen  glance  into  Mr.  Haugh ton's  face 
*hen  he  returned  with  Pierce,  and  then  went  on  into  the 
bar  with  an  unmoved  countenance. 

Hoyden  Keith  rose  and  put  down  his  book  when  Mr. 
Haujjhton,  uninvited,  followed  the  card  Pierce  brought  in. 
Hoyden  offered  his  hand  in  his  easy,  eourteous  way  ;  but, 
though  he  showed  no  evidence  of  it,  he  i'elt  a  great  surprise 
at  this  visit. 

During  the  day  before,  both  at  Abbotsmoor  and  Deer- 
grove,  there  had  been  no  concealment  in  Lawrence  Haugh. 
ton's  8U>*»vinion  and  avoidance  of  this  stranger  of  waooi 


OLD  MYDDELTOJS'S  MOSEY.  129 

others  had  made  so  much  ;  and  Royden  had  felt  and  under, 
stood  the  reason  of  this,  as  only  a  shrewd  and  sensitive 
man  can  understand  and  feel.  Therefore  was  this  unex- 
pected visit,  so  far,  a  puzzle  to  him. 

Mr.  Haughton  declined  to  take  a  chair. 

"  I  am  expected  at  my  office  in  a  few  minutes'  time,"  he 
said,  by  way  of  excuse. 

Then  he  paused.  If,  when  he  resolved  upon  this  visit,  he 
had  for  one  moment  fancied  it  would  be  easy  to  sound 
Royden  Keith  on  the  one  subject  which  at  present  baffled 
him,  his  first  glance  this  morning  into  the  young  man's 
face  convinced  him  of  his  error.  Even  if  possible,  the  task 
Would  be  far  from  easy. 

"  Our  visit  to  Abbotsmoor  yesterday,"  began  Lawrence, 
thinking  it  wisest  to  make  a  plunge  at  once,  "very 
naturally  put  Gabriel  Myddelton  into  my  thoughts.  This 
morning  I  find  them  returning  to  him,  and  so  I  have 
been  looking  over  what  papers  I  possess  relating  to  his 
crime." 

"A  humiliating  task,  I  fear." 

"  A  very  humiliating  task,"  assented  Lawrence,  taking 
op,  with  inexplicable  heat,  those  few  cool  words  of  Roy  den's; 
"  but  I  am  not  here  with  the  intention  of  blaming  him.  He 
is  as  far  beyond  my  blame  as  his  crime  is  beyond  my 
punishment.1' 

"  Is  his  crime  beyond  your  punishment  ?"  inquired 
Royden,  with  composure.  "  If  you  find  him,  surely  you  can 
hang  him,  even  now." 

A  flame  of  scarlet  rose  to  the  lawyer's  brow,  the  very 
veins  of  his  face  were  swollen  when  Royden,  from  his 
great  height,  glanced  calmly  down  upon  him,  reading  his 
suspicion,  but  failing  to  read  how  this  suppressed  anger 
was  caused  by  the  consciousness  of  his  feelings  for  Gabriel 
lying  bare  before  the  clear  and  quizzical  eyes  of  this  young 
man,  whom  he  could  not  read  at  all. 

"  A  thought  struck  me  last  night," — Lawrence  had,  by 
a  strong  effort,  shaken  off  his  impotent  wrath,  and  was  con- 
tinuing the  conversation  with  as  much  ease  as  he  could 
assume — "  that  Gabriel  Myddelton  might  be  in  straitened 
circumstances,  and,  if  any  one  could  tell  OB  where  he  was, 
W«  might  be  able  to  help  him." 


130  OLD  MYDDELTON'8  MONEY. 

"Yes  ?"  questioned  Hoyden,  in  the  pause,  his  long 
eyes  fixed  coolly  and  steadily  upon  the  lawyer's  face. 

"  I  thought,  as  you  have  travelled  much,  even,  as  I  hear, 
in  America,  you  might,  through  your  friends  there,  possibly 
make  inquiries  for  us." 

"  I  have  one  or  two  friends  in  America,"  returned  Royden, 
in  his  leisurely  tones ;  "  what  do  you  wish  me  to  ask  them  ?  " 

"  I  thought,  as  I  said,  that  you  might  possibly  make 
inquiries  among  them  concerning  Gabriel  Myddelton." 

"  You  mean,  if  they  can  be  trusted  in  such  a  case  ?  " 

"Of  course,  of  course !"  exclaimed  Lawrence,  hastilv, 
wondering  why  he  could  not  frame  his  words  here,  and  on 
this  subject,  just  as  he  could  on  matters  of  law  in  his  owu 
office  ;  "  I  mean,  if  you  know  any  who  can  be  trusted." 

"  If  I  do,"  said  Eoyden,  slowly,  "  what  then  ?  " 

"  If,  through  them,  we  could  send  out  help  to  Gabriel — 
always  providing  that  his  identity  were  assured — we  ehould 
be  willing  to  do  so." 

With  these  words,  the  lawyer  raised  his  eyes  boldly.  The 
younger  man  could  hardly  answer  easily  here,  if  his  visitor's 
one  haunting  and  damning  suspicion  were  well-founded. 

"  Have  you  reason  to  believe  that  he  went  to  America  ?  " 

"  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  he  landed  in  Quebec  ;  but 
I  did  not  hear  this  until  it  was  years  too  late  to  be  of  service." 

"  Too  late  to  capture  him  ?  " 

Again  the  hot  flame  of  anger  burned  in  Lawrence 
Haughton's  face. 

"  Am  I  not  trying,"  he  said,  "  to  help  this  most  degraded 
connection  of  my  own  ?  " 

But  for  the  eager,  intense  desire  he  felt  to  assure  himself 
of  the  correctness  of  this  suspicion  of  his,  Lawrence  would 
have  uttered  no  further  words  on  this  subject.  As  it  was, 
though,  he  would  bear  any  words  his  companion  might 
choose  to  say,  rather  than  resign  the  chance  of  some  day 
proving  him  a  convicted  and  escaped  criminal. 

"  I  never  spent  a  day  in  Quebec  in  my  life,"  said  Royden, 
steadily  stud) ing  the  lawyer's  hard,  embarrassed  face,  "so 
I  have  unfortunately  no  friends  there  to  whom  I  can  appeal 
on  behalf  of  your  generous  plan.  I  have  one  friend,  a 
miner,  in  Peru.  Shall  I  apply  to  him  lor  possible  tidings 
of  your  cousin  ?  " 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  181 

"Mr.  Keith,"  said  the  lawyer,  in  only  half-concealed 
jnger,  "  it  appears  to  me  that  you  wilfully  misunderstand 
what  I  wish  to  say.  Such  conduct  would  make  a  suspicious 
man  fancy  it  more  than  possible  that  you  yourself  are  cog- 
nisant  of  Gabriel  Myddelton's  hiding-place." 

The  one  cool  glance  which  Royden  gave  into  the  face 
i>elow  him,  read  the  whole  depth  and  width  of  this  man's 
vile  suspicion  ;  but  then  the  lesson  had  been  slowly  learned 
before  that  glance. 

"  You  evidently  understand  the  nature  of  a  suspicions 
man,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  Will  you  tell  me,"inquired  Lawrence,  with  a  desperatelast 
appeal,  "  if  you  think  you  can  be  of  service  to  me  in  this  ?  " 

"No,  sir,"  rejoined  Royden,  gravely.  "With  all  due 
deference  to  you,  and  to  the  law  you  uphold,  I  would  not,  if 
I  could,  be  an  agent — however  remote — in  leading  a  free 
man  into  captivity." 

"  You  do  not  know,  then,  anything  of  Gabriel  Myddelton?" 

Nothing  could  more  plainly  have  shown  the  desperate 
eagerness  with  which  Lawrence  Haughton  sought  to  dive  at  a 
truth  which  lay  beyond  his  reach  than  this  persistence  in 
nis  questioning  of  Royden  Keith,  and  laying  himself  open 
to  the  cool  and  proud  rejoinders  which  galled  him  as  no 
rough  or  angry  words  could  have  done,  and  galled  him  with 
a  hundred  times  their  force  because  they  were  uttered  by 
this  man  whom  he  suspected,  yet  against  whom  he  could 
prove  nothing.  The  man  too  of  whom — though  he  hardly 
comprehended  even  himself  the  force,  or  strength,  or  mean- 
ness of  the  feeling — he  was  acutely  and  bitterly  jealous,  with 
the  smallest  and  most  despicable  jealousy  of  which  a  man's 
mind  is  capable — meanly  jealous  of  the  face  and  figure  so 
superior  to  his  own  ;  selfishly  jealous  of  the  luxuries  and  re- 
finements the  man  possessed  ;  angrily  jealous  of  the  mystery 
"which  surrounded  him  ;  savagely  jealous,  above  all,  of  the 
power  he  seemed  to  possess  of  winning  a  love  for  which  other 
men  might  labour  and  sigh  in  vain.  No  feeling  less  strong 
than  this  contemptible  and  overmastering  jealousy  and  sus- 
picion could  have  made  Lawrence  Haughton  lengthen  this 
interview  by  a  renewed  attempt  to  wring  a  grain  of  some 
convicting  truth  from  his  companion.  But  he  did  so,  and 
repeated  and  enlarged  his  question. 


132  OLD  KYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

"  I  properly  understand  you — do  I,  Mr.  Keith  ?  Too 
have  no  knowledge  of  the  hiding-place  of  Gabriel  Myddel- 
ton  ?  Let  me  assure  yon  that  your  information  will  be 
received  in  strictest  confidence." 

Hoyden's  steadfast  eyes  seemed  to  Mr.  Haughton  to  take 
in  his  whole  mind  and  person  in  their  slow,  haughty  glanc* 

"  What  information,  may  I  ask,  sir  ?  " 

"Any  information,"  rejoined  Lawrence,  with  a  last  effort 
of  humility,  "  with  which  you  might  favour  me  about  my 
cousin,  Gabriel  Myddelton." 

"  When  I  have  information  which  I  wish  to  confide  to 
Jou,  I  will  bring  it  you  myself.  I  will  not  trouble  you  to 
seek  it  so  urgently." 

"  You  offered,  a  few  minutes  ago,"  observed  the  lawyer, 
seizing  on  his  last  faint  hope  of  a  stray  advantage,  "  to  make 
inquiries  of  your  friends  in  South  America." 

"I  will  do  so  with  pleasure.  By  what  name  may  I 
inquire  for  your  cousin  ?  " 

"  By  what  name? ''  replied  Lawrence,  gazing  half  stupefied 
into  the  cool,  quizzical  face  above  him,  and  wondering  how 
it  was  that  every  word  this  man  uttered  went  to  strengtheo 
his  suspicion,  yet  every  glance  and  tone  to  weaken  it. 

"  Yes,  that  is  my  question,  sir,"  returned  Koyden,  quietly. 
"  For  it  is  not  customary,  I  believe,  even  in  the  wilds  of  an 
unpopulated  country,  for  a  condemned  criminal,  who  has  by 
stratagem  escaped  the  grip  of  English  justice,  to  travel 
under  his  branded  name.  By  what  name  may  I  inquire  foi 
your  cousin  ?  " 

"You  know  I  cannot  tell ! "  blurted  the  lawyer,  impotently. 
"  A  nice  mockery  your  offer  is  ! — you  had  better  have  made 
none." 

"  Then  I  will  withdraw  it,"  said  Hoyden,  glancing  at  the 
door  as  a  footstep  approached  it  from  without. 

"  Of  one  thing  I  am  perfectly  sure,"  stammered  Mr. 
Haughton,  looking  at  "his  hat,  as  if  about  to  put  it  on,  but 
making  no  movement  towards  the  door  ;  "  no  gentleman 
would  speak  as  you  have  done  to-day  of  Gabriel  Myddelton 
and  his  acts,  unless  he  had  personally  known  something  of 
Gabriel  and  those  deeds  of  his." 

"Come  in." 

The  knock   upon  the  door,  and  Mr.  Keith's  leisurely 


OLD  MYDDELTONS  MONEY.  133 

answer  to  it,  alone  had  broken  the  pause  which  followed  the 
lawyer's  words. 

"A  letter,  sir." 

Pierce  came  up  to  his  master  with  his  noiseless  step,  and 
the  lawyer  hesitated  in  his  intention  to  leave,  watching  Mr. 
Keith's  hand  as  it  took  the  letter  from  the  tray  the  servant 
held. 

"Waiting." 

"  No,  sir — sent  by  a  messenger  belonging  to  lliiibury." 

Lawrence  Haughton's  eyes — sharpened  not  only  by  years 
of  practice,  but  by  the  distrust  which  every  moment  grew  so 
upon  him — rested  greedily  upon  the  envelope  which  Hoyden 
held  without  attempting  to  open  ;  but  they  rested  there  in 
vain,  for  all  their  keenness  ;  and  one  fancy,  which  had  been 
hovering  tauntingly  about  him,  laid  hold  of  Mr.  Haughton's 
mind  now  as  a  mortifying  conviction.  Below  all  the  quiet, 
rather  amused  ease  of  the  young  man  before  him  lay  a  will 
far  stronger  than  his  own,  a  power  more  dominant  ;  and — 
above  all  humiliating  to  the  lawyer,  who  built  so  great  pre- 
tensions on  his  reserve — a  eight  so  much  keener,  and  a 
knowledge  so  much  truer,  that  his  motives  and  suspicions 
had  all  been  laid  bare  in  this  interview,  which  had  shown 
Mm  nothing. 

Was  it  any  wonder  that  Lawrence  Haughton,  being  the 
man  he  was,  should  suspect  that  an  infamous  truth  lay  hidden 
somewhere  ;  and  should  vow  within  himself  that  he  would 
drag  this  truth  to  light  ? 

There  was  no  sign  of  Royden's  opening  the  letter,  and 
Lawrence  had  no  excuse  to  stay  longer. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Keith,"  he  said,  and  made  rather 
an  unnecessary  show  of  offering  his  hand. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Royden,  with  a  slight,  uncon- 
cerned bow. 

Before  the  lawyer  had  reached  the  vestibule  of  the  hotel, 
a  sudden  resolution  formed  itself  from  the  jarring  discords  ot 
mistrust  and  jealousy  which  swayed  his  mind.  Slowly  he 
yetracedhig  steps,  and,  following  immediately  on  the  slightest 
?i<:na!  cf  iis  approach  'which  courtesy  allowed,  he  entered  Mr. 
Keith's  room  once  more. 

It  was  empty,  but  Mr.  Haughton  thought  he  would  wait 
for  a  few  moments,  so  he  sauntered  over  to  the  hearth,  and, 


134  OLD  MYDDELTON'8  MONEY. 

as  he  framed  to  himself  the  speech  intended  for  Royden'a 
ear,  he  stood  with  his  eyes  lowered. 

Suddenly  and  swiftly  a  change  came  into  his  face.  Stoop- 
ing upon  the  rag,  and  stretching  forth  his  cautious  whire 
fingers,  he  took  something  from  the  grate,  and  placed  this 
Bomething  within  the  crown  of  the  hat  he  carried. 

"I  see  how  it  is,"  he  said  to  himself,  in  self-congratulation;. 
"  he  threw  it  there  to  burn,  little  guessing  that  the  ashes 
would  tell  secrets.  I  think  I  will  not  stay  now." 

But  Mr.  Haughton  had,  with  miraculous  suddenness,  to 
repress  his  smile  of  delight,  and  once  more  change  his 
tactics,  when,  as  he  turned  to  leave  the  room,  he  encountered 
Hoyden  Keith. 

"  I  returned,"  he  said,  with  a  little  unusual  suavity  in  his 
harsh  tones,  "  to  beg  that,  if  you  think  it  dangerous  in  any 
way  to  move  in  the  matter  of  discovering  Gabriel  Myddelton's 
name  and  place  of  concealment,  you  will  not,  for  a  moment, 
think  of  doing  so." 

"  Danger  to  himself  or  to  me  ?  "  inquired  Royden  in  a 
tone  of  quiet  irony. 

The  old  bewilderment  was  falling  upon  Lawrence 
Haughton's  biain  once  more,  but  there  was  now  the  pleasant 
consciousness  of  what  he  carried  in  his  hat. 

"  Your  question  is  odd,"  he  said,  with  a  curious  smile. 
"  For  whom  could  there  be  danger  hut  for  the  felon  himself?" 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  law,  is  it  ?  Danger  only  for  the  felon 
himself.  That's  well.  Then  listen,  Mr.  Haughton.  I  did 
not,  as  you  are  quite  aware,  promise  you  help  in  discovering 
his  name  and  hiding-place  ;  your  return,  therefore,  to  in- 
sinuate danger  to  him  was  unnecessary.  But  your  courteous 
and  well-disguised  insinuation  of  danger  to  myself  has  given 
a  zest  to  the  idea  for  me,  and  I  will  now  promise  you  to  do 
what  you  desire,  and  be  myself  the  one  to  bring  you  and 
Gabriel  Myddelton  face  to  face." 

"  If  you  do,  you  know  the  consequence,"  said  Lawrence, 
between  his  teeth. 

"  The  consequence  will  naturally  be  the  carrying  out  of 
that  long-delayed  sentence  of  the  law." 

"  Certainly.  Though,  as  I  said  before,"  added  Lawrence, 
hastily,  "  if  I  knew  him  to  be  in  a  distant  country,  trying  to 
be  a  bettci-  man,  I  would  wish  to  offer  him  help." 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  185 

"  You  are  generous,"  remarked  Royden,  drily  ;  and  then 
the  two  men  separated. 

"  I  know  nothing  more  than  I  knew  when  I  went  in," 
muttered  the  lawyer  to  himself,  as  he  descended  the  stairs 
for  the  second  time  ;  "  but  still  I  have  something  now  which 
may  be  a  proof." 

Entering  his  own  office,  without  having  addressed  either 
of  his  clerks  on  his  way,  Mr.  Haughton  turned  the  key  in 
the  door  behind  him.  Then  taking  his  usual  seat  before 
his  writing-table,  he  cautiously  drew  the  burned  paper  from 
his  hat.  It  was  but  a  small  torn  piece  which  he  had  rescued, 
and  it  was  burned  perfectly  black,  but  upon  it  he  could  read, 
in  white,  two  written  words. 

"  Science  would  explain  this  in  a  moment,"  smiled  Law- 
rence, locking  the  paper  carefully  in  a  private  drawer,  "  and 
tell  why,  as  that  peculiar  paper  burnt  to  tinder  without 
entirely  crumbling  away,  and  its  whiteness  turned  to  black- 
ness, the  ink  should,  on  the  contrary,  turn  from  black  to 
white,  and  fulfil  its  mission  still,  by  forming  the  words  in  its 
strong  contrast.  But  I  do  not  need  it  explained  by  science. 
Here  the  words  stand,  and  that  is  enough  for  me.  When 
the  time  comes,  they  may  be  proof  enough  ;  and  in  the 
meantime  they  are  safe  here." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Unless  you  can  swear,  "For  life,  for  death," 
Oh,  fear  to  call  it  loving  ! 

E.  B.  BROWNING. 

IN  spite  of  Mrs  Payte's  sharp  rebukes  and  muttered  grum- 
blings, Honor  Craven  acted  upon  the  permission  given  her, 
and  spent  much  time  at  East  Cottage,  soothing  and  cheer- 
ing, as  far  as  possible,  the  wakeful  hours  of  the  invalid 
whose  only  constant  companion  seemed  so  harsh  and  unfeel- 
ing. Yet  those  visits  to  the  cottage  were  by  no  means  easy 
of  accomplishment  for  Honor.  Far  from  being  her  own  mis- 
tress, to  spend  there  what  time  she  would,  and  come  and  go  aa 
the  chose,  there  were  continual  difficulties  put  in  her  way,  both 


136  OLD  MYDDELTON  S   MONEY. 

by  her  guardian  and  his  sister.  Lawrence  selfishly  forbade 
her  to  be  out  after  six  o'clock,  when  he  himself  came  home; 
and  Miss  Haughton  considered  that  there  were  a  hundred 
things  she  might  be  doing  more  useful  and  sensible  than 
M  dancing  attendance  "  on  a  perfect  stranger. 

"  Why  don't  you  mend  your  stockings  ?  "  she  would  in- 
quire, when  Honor,  her  morning  duties  over,  would  beg 
permission  to  go. 

"  They  don't  want  mending,  Jane." 

"  Well,  Phoebe's  always  want  double  mending  ;  so  why 
don't  you  help  her  ?  "  would  be  the  grumbling  remark. 

"  Oh  !  let  me  go — do,  Jane  ;  Mrs.  Disbrowe  is  so  very  ill," 
)he  girl  would  plead,  without  uttering  one  impatient  word 
at  Jane's  proposal,  though  she  knew  that  Phoebe's  mending 
always  fell  entirely  upon  her  own  quick  fingers. 

If  at  last  she  did  succeed  in  getting  off,  she  must — how- 
ever much  she  felt  herself  of  use  at  the  cottage — be  home 
again  for  the  six  o'clock  dinner,  or  incur  her  guardian's 
hoody  displeasure,  and  in  so  doing  bring  down  upon  herself 
a  perfect  torrent  of  tears  from  Phoebe,  and  Miss  Haughton's 
blackest  looks  and  grimmest  words.  So  this  new  task  which 
Honor  had  taken  upon  herself  was  no*  so  easy  r  one  as  Mrs. 
Payte  seemed  to  fancy,  when  she  would  meet  the  girl's 
bright  face  at  the  cottage  window,  and  ask  her  sharply  how 
many  of  her  day's  duties  she  had  left  undone.  The  answers 
always  had  been  so  truthful  that  even  this  sceptical  old  lady 
could  not  doubt  the  truth  of  the  one  which  at  last  took  the 
place  of  all  others — 

"None  left  undone  to-day,  MrS  Payte.  I  was  up  early, 
and  everything  is  done." 

Sometimes,  receiving  this  bright  answer,  Mrs.  Payte 
caught  herself  smiling  into  the  girl's  earnest  eyes — but  only 
sometimes.  The  answer  generally  met  with  a  grunt  of 
sceptical  surprise,  and,  but  that  Honor  looked  for  no  thanks, 
her  heart  might  have  grown  idle  or  rebellious  in  this  task. 
But  it  never  did  ;  and  when  a  month  was  gone,  and  October 
was  drawing  to  its  close,  Honor  was  still  fulfilling  this  one 
duty,  her  soft  voice  and  step  untiring,  and  her  gentle  hands 
unfailing,  in  their  prompt  and  loving  service. 

One  afternoon,  when  Honor  reached  the  cottage — Miss 
Haughton  had  kept  her  at  home  all  the  morning,  darning 


OLD  MYDDELT01TS  MONEY.  187 

tablecloths  with  Phoebe,  whose  propensity  was  to  keep  a  novel 
under  her  work,  and  imbibe  its  contents  surreptitiously  while 
her  younger  cousin  worked — she  found  Theodora  Trent  with 
Mrs.  Payte  in  the  cottage  parlour.  Miss  Trent  had  madr 
her  duty-call  as  brief  as  possible,  and  now  was  relieved  to 
feel  that  the  ten  minutes  were  over,  and  she  might  depart. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  Mrs,  Disbrowe  is  so  ill  ;  I  hope 
We  shall  soon  have  better  tidings  of  her." 

So  she  was  saying,  in  her  languid  tones,  when  Honor  en- 
tered  the  room  ;  and  the  cold  wish,  so  impossible  of  fulfilment, 
made  the  girl's  heart  feel  hot  and  angry  when  she  heard  it. 

"  I  hope  so,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Payte,  curtly.  "  She's  a  good 
deal  of  trouble  to  me,  as  you  may  imagine." 

"Yes,  I  can  imagine  it,"  assented  Theodora. 

"  Anyone  with  sense  can  see  how  hard  it  is  for  me,"  con- 
tinued the  little  old  lady,  waxing  wrath  at  the  thought, 
"  yet  Honor  never  will  own  it.  I  only  hope  she  will  some 
day  have  just  such  a  place  as  mine  to  fill ;  she'll  understand 
all  about  it  then." 

The  shrewd  eyes  raised  to  Theodora's  face  had  an  inex- 
plicable twinkle  in  them  ;  and  Theodora,  understanding 
that  Honor's  conduct  was  deserving  ridicule,  laughed  her 
short  lazy  laugh,  and  moved  a  little  nearer  to  the  door. 

"  So  Mr.  Keith  is  going  away  again  ?  " 

The  words  stopped  Miss  Trent. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said  from  a  lofty  height  of  superior  know- 
ledge ;  "  he  has  been  away  and  has  returned." 

"  Oh,  that's  it,  is  it  ?  I  thought  he  was  going  again  ; 
but  old  women  are  not  reliable  authorities  ;  the  absurdity 
of  their  tales  is  proverbial.  I  don't  wonder  he  came  back, 
the  shooting  hers  is  so  good  ;  I  don't  wonder  he  goes  away 
again,  the  air  is  so  vile.  Mr.  Haughton  ought  to  invite 
him  to  The  Larches,  Honor  ;  he  would  like  that." 

On  this  quizzical  speech  fell  Miss  Trent's  slow  cold  ques- 
tion, as  she  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  Is  Honor  unwomanly  enough  to 
try  to  attract  Mr.  Keith  to  The  Larches  ?  " 

"  Unwomanly,"  smiled  Mrs.  Payte;  "  is  Honor  unwomanly, 
you  ask  ?  I  have  not  known  her  so  long  as  you  have  ; 
please  to  answer  your  own  question.  I  only  said  I  thought 
Mr.  Keith  would  be  very  glad  to  visit  at  Honor's  home." 


188  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Theodora,  answering  the  quizzical 
words  with  a  suppressed  eagerness  which  sounded  almost 
like  fear  ;  "  I  happen  to  know,  in  fact,  for  Mr.  Keith  has 
expressed  to  me  his  opinion  of  Honor." 

"  What  a  curious  thing  ! "  said  Honor,  laughing.  "  What 
was  it,  Theodora  ?  " 

"  He  said  " — the  words  were  uttered  with  but  little  com- 
punction— "  that  you  were  not  a  girl  on  whom  any  man 
could  bestow  a  strong  affection.  Yon  were  very  well  for  an 
hour's  amusement,  but  any  man  would  be  a  fool  who  offered 
you  anything  more  serious  than  a  passing  flirtation — some- 
thing, at  any  rate,  to  that  effect.  Dear  me,"  exclaimed  Theo- 
dora, with  a  solo  of  laughter,  "  why  do  you  look  so  horror- 
stricken  over  it  ?  Others  have  made  the  snme  remark 
before.  It  is  your  own  fault  that  men  think  you  vain  and 
flippant ;  surely  his  opinion  need  not  have  turned  you  white 
to  the  very  lips,  need  it  ?  I  told  you  for  your  own  good.'1 

"  Don't  be  childish  enough  to  undervalue  what  is  told  you 
for  your  own  good,"  remarked  the  old  lady,  placidly.  "  Miss 
Trent,  has  Lady  Lawrence  acknowledged  that  photograph 
which  was  so  beautifully  taken  at  Abbotsmoor  the  day  we 
were  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  she  admires  it  very  much." 

"  She  naturally  would.    When  is  she  coming  to  England  ?" 

"  She  will  be  here  for  Christmas,  and  we  are  to  meet  her 
in  London." 

"  Has  she  a  house  in  London,  or  was  it  old  Myddelton's  ?  " 

"  It  is  her  own,  I  believe,"  said  Theodora,  the  subject  of 
conversation  making  even  the  speaker  bearable — "a  beautiful 
mansion  in  Kensington.  I  am  glad  we  are  to  meet  her 
there ;  I've  been  terribly  afraid  of  her  coming  down  here. 
It  would  have  been  awkward  for  her  to  have  appointed  to 
meet  us  in  this  neighbourhood." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Mrs.  Payte.  "  Stay,  Honor,  that  was 
Belina's  bell  ;  I  will  go.  Miss  Trent,  may  I  ask  you  to  wait 
for  a  couple  of  minutes  ?  " 

Even  if  Theodora  had  been  inclined  to  refuse,  the  little 
lady  did  not  give,  her  any  opportunity  ;  but  she  kept  her 
eearcely  more  than  the  allotted  time. 

"I  wish  to  goodness,"  she  exclaimed,  coming  in  with  a 
heavy  frown  upon  her  face,  "  that  servants  were  not,  as  a 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  189 

class,  snch  heaps  of  selfishness.  There  is  mine  prone  for  her 
half-holiday,  goodness  only  knows  where,  and  Selina  moaning 
for  a  new  medicine  from  Kinbury,  fidgeting  me  till  I  don'* 
know  what  to  do  with  myself.  Servants  have  no  right  to 
ask  for  holidays." 

"  Our  servants  never  have  them,  unless  we  are  away," 
observed  Theodora ;  H  we  think  it  a  very  unnecessary 
indulgence." 

"  It  is  an  absurd  indulgence  !  "  fumed  the  old  lady  ;  "and 
Bee  how  it  leaves  me  in  this  case — alone  in  the  house  with 
two  helpless  invalids,  for  that  miserable  girl  belonging  to  the 
cottage  is  of  less  than  no  use  at  all.  Now  what  am  I  to  do  ? 
I  ought  to  go  into  Kinbury,  but  Selina  is  lost  without  me." 

The  faintest  possible  smile  of  contempt  stirred  Miss 
Trent's  lips.  Could  any  invalid  be  lost  without  this 
chattering  and  restless  little  worry  ?  she  thought.  But  she 
only  said,  aloud—"  It  is  very  awkward  for  you.  Why  is 
not  the  medicine  sent  ? " 

"  She  wishes  for  a  bottle  of  a  medicine  she  used  to  take. 
Sick  women  are  so  fanciful  !  She  thinks  a  dose  of  that 
would  give  her  a  good  night." 

Honor  looked  up  brightly  at  the  words. 

"I  will  go,  Mrs.  Payte,"  she  said  ;  "  the  little  trouble 
will  be  well  repaid  by  giving  Mrs.  Disbrowe  a  good  night." 

Miss  Trent  glanced  at  Honor  with  unconcealed  surprise, 
but  evidently  considered  the  matter  beneath  argument. 

"  You  must  not  go,  Honor.  How  could  you  come  back  ?  " 

"  Let  me  go,"  pleaded  Honor,  with  the  old  bright  self- 
forgetfulness.  *'I  will  come  back  with  Lawrence  in  the 
waggonette." 

"  You  are  sure  you  can  do  so  ?  " 

"Quite  sure,"  said  the  girl,  knowing  how  pleased 
Lawrence  would  be  to  bring  her  home. 

She  would  not  go  in  to  Mrs.  Disbrowe,  she  said,  for  fear 
of  the  sick  lady's  begging  her  not  to  undertake  the  walk, 
and  she  only  nodded  a  quiet  good-bye  to  Theodora.  Then 
she  set  out,  singing  softly  to  herself  in  the  wide  and  un- 
frequented road,  to  drown  the  memory  of  those  words  which 
Theodora  Trent  had  repeated  to  her. 

"  What  difference  does  it  make  to  me  ?  "  she  said  to  her- 
•elf  at  last.  with,  a  funny  little  shake  of  the  head,  when  she 


HO  <JLD   MTDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

found  that  the  half-whispered  song  would  not  drown  the 
words.  "  I  don't  care  an  atom." 

She  asserted  that  fact  distinctly  twice  over  ;  and  yet  A 
faint,  tremulous  pain  seized  the  girl  when  Eoyden  Keith, 
in  sporting-dress,  and  with  his  gun  upon  his  shoulder  and 
his  dogs  around  him,  came  through  a  gate  before  her,  and 
out  into  the  road. 

"  He — the  sight  of  him  made  me  feel  very  angry ;  I  dislike 
him  so  l"she  said,  reasoning  with  herself  in  marvellous 
wisdom,  as  the  tremor  passed  and  the  flash  of  vivid  colour 
faded.  "I  hope  he  will  not  wait  for  me — I  do  dislike  him  so !" 

It  was  an  unnecessary  speech,  because  she  could  plainly 
see  that  Royden  had  not  only  waited,  but  was  coming 
towards  her.  He  had  a  smile  of  pleasure  on  his  face  when 
they  met,  but,  before  that,  it  had  worn  the  sorrow  of 
thorough  disappointment.  Every  few  days  since  his  dog 
had  saved  the  life  of  that  child  who  lived  in  the  solitary 
cottage  among  the  green  lanes,  Royden  had  paid  the  mother 
a  visit.  Bat  these  visits — though  his  voice  was  good  tc 
hear,  and  his  face  good  to  see  in  her  gloomy  home,  and 
though  his  thoughtful  gifts  were  luxuries,  and  his  tender- 
ness to  the  little  child  was  now  the  little  fellow's  one  idea  of 
happiness — brought  a  growing  gloom  instead  of  brightness 
to  the  mother's  face.  And  this  very  day  he  had  found  the 
cottage  locked  and  empty,  though  on  his  last  visit  no 
mention  had  been  made  of  the  probable  departure,, 

Royden  mused  deeply  over  the  circumstance,  recalling 
how,  on  that  last  visit,  he  had  once  again  talked  of 
Margaret  Territ,  and  had  noticed  with  what  eager,  petulant 
haste  the  mother  had  turned  aside  the  subject,  hurrying  to 
say,  as  she  had  said  before,  that  she  had  no  neighbour 
Margaret — no  neighbour  at  all — and  that  she  wanted  none. 
Yet  on  the  day  afterwards  she  had  left,  and  had  taken  her 
child  no  one  knew  whither.  How  could  Royden  help  musing 
upon  this,  and  feeling  that  the  one  clue  which  he  had  for 
ft  moment  held  within  his  hand,  was  lost  again  ?  Still 
the  smile  broke  in  his  eyes  as  Honor  came — very  lingeringly 
—up  to  meet  him. 

"  Not  going  into  Kinbury  alone,  are  you,  Miss  Craven  ?  * 
he  asked,  as  his  hand  closed  firmly  over  hers. 

•*  Yes/'  §aid  Honor,  and  she  told  him  simply  why. 


OLD  MYDDELTON  8  MONET.  141 

"  But  this  should  not  be,"  he  objected,  anxiously,  as  he 
made  a  sudden  stop.  "  You  cannot  possibly  walk  back. 
Let  me  send  the  medicine  out  to  East  Cottage." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  returned  Honor,  proudly  ;  I  will  go, 
because  the  commission  was  given  to  me,  and  I  can  come 
home  with  my  cousin.  He  has  the  waggonette  in  town." 

Royden  said  no  more.  He  could  see  how  firm  the  girl's 
resolution  was,  and,  if  he  could  not  also  see  how  delighted 
she  was  with  an  excuse  for  displaying  this  pride,  which  was 
anything  but  natural  to  her,  why,  it  was  not  very  much  to 
be  wondered  at,  considering  how  lit  tie  he  knew  of  the  private 
confidences  of  Miss  Theodora  Trent. 

"  I  felt  perfectly  abashed  when  you  began  to  talk  to  me  of  • 
business  in  town,  with  that  very  business-like  air,  Miss 
Craven,"  he  remarked,  as  they  walked  on,  side  by  side,  in 
Bpite  of  Honor's  proud  and  ineffectual  little  efforts  to  lea^e 
a  space  of  unoccupied  highway  between  them.  "Your  tone 
conveyed  an  unmistakable  rebuke  to  me  ;  I  began  to  feel 
overwhelmed  with  shame  at  being  only  'on  pleasure  bent.'" 

Honor,  feeling  the  incumbrance  of  unfamiliarity  in  her 
new  armour  of  pride,  naturally  made  a  strenuous  effort  to 
appear  very  much  at  her  ease  therein. 

"  Captain  Trent  considers  shooting  very  hard  work,"  she 
said,  with  her  eyes  far  on  before  her,  and  a  general  ex- 
pression of  entire  ease  and  indifference.  "  I  dislike  him 
so,"  she  added  to  herself  again,  most  persistently,  and  try- 
ing to  take  intc  her  face  and  figure  an  evidence  of  this. 

"Then  I  ought  to  congratulate  myself,  I  suppose,"  he 
Baid,  with  a  srnile,  "  that  this  will  be  for  a  time  my  last 
day's  hard  work.  I  am  going  away  to-morrow." 

Angrily  and  silently  Honor  framed  the  words  in  her  own 
mind,  "  I  am  very  glad — very  glad  indeed."  But  for  all 
that,  there  passed  a  little  quiver  across  her  lips,  and  for  an 
instant  the  steep'es  of  Kiubury  and  the  long  stretch  of 
white  highway  were  wrapped  in  heavy  mist.  Then  she 
epoke  with  quiet  unconcern. 

"  You  must  be  very  glad.  Yours  is  rather  a  solitary  life 
here." 

"  Mine  is  always  a  solitary  life." 

By  mistake — most  mortifyingly  by  mistake — she  looked 
op  to  meet  his  eyes. 


142  OLD   MYDDELTON  S  MONET. 

"  I  hope  not,"  she  said  ;  and  that  was  by  mistake  too. 

"  It  always  has  been,"  he  answered,  very  low  ;  "  not  quit* 
idle,  and  not  unhappy,  but  always  solitary.  Within  the  last 
few  months  there  has  dawned  upon  me  the  possibility  of 
its  being  different — a  far-off  possibility,  but  bright  and  beau- 
tiful beyond  my  dreams.  This  is  since  I  knew  you,  Honor." 

"  He  said  you  were  not  a  girl  on  whom  any  man  conld 
bestow  a  strong  affection."  Honor  had  no  need  to  bring 
these  words  from  her  memory,  to  array  them  in  giant 
strength  against  those  quiet  words  he  uttered ;  the  smart 
was  too  recent.  Her  eyes  looked  clearly  on  before  her 
still,  and  her  lip  curled  scornfully  ;  but  the  eyes  did  not 
venture  to  meet  his,  and  the  lip  curled  tremulously,  as  if 
its  scorn  were  an  effort. 

"  Miss  Craven,  I  want  to  ask  you  if  you  will  come  and 
see  my  home.  Mrs.  Trent  has  offered  to  visit  me,  and  to 
bring  her  daughter  and  her  nephew.  I  had  only  to  accept 
their  kindness  ;  but  I  would  plead  for  yours.  They  are 
coming  only  for  one  day.  Will  you  let  me,  for  that  one 
day,  entertain  in  my  home  the  only  one  in  all  the  world 
who  can  make  the  home  beautiful  for  me  ?  " 

"  He  said  you  were  very  well  for  an  hour's  amusement, 
but  that  any  man  would  be  a  fool  to  offer  you  anything 
more  serious  than  a  passing  flirtation." 

Once  more,  with  deathless  force,  the  memory  came  and 
crushed  the  power  of  those  earnest  words  he  uttered.  If 
only  it  had  not  been  just  in  this  hour  that  she  had  chanced 
to  meet  him  ! 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Keith,  but  I  think  I  will  not  come." 

He  stopped  for  a  moment  in  his  walk,  looking  down,  with 
searching  earnestness,  into  her  face.  It  was  such  a  pure 
and  innocent  face,  so  thoughtful  as  well  as  bright,  so  quick 
to  read  truth  and  earnestness,  so  thoroughly  true  itself,  that 
he  knew  he  could  trust  the  answer  he  should  read  there. 

"  He  said  you  were  not  a  girl  on  whom  any  man  could 
bestow  a  strong  affection."  Those  words  were  in  burning 
letters  before  her  wide  and  angry  eyes  ;  at  that  moment  he 
looked  down  und  read  his  answer. 

For  many  minutes  after  that  they  walked  in  silence; 
then,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  Royden  offered  his  hand — • 

"It  is  good-bye,  I  suppose,  Miss  Craven.     I  will  not 


OLD  MTDDELTON'S  MONEY.  145 

tease  yon  by  again  asking  you  to  come  with  Mrs.  Trent  ,• 
but,  if  you  change  your  mind  and  come,  you  will  makt 
me  very  happy — for  that  one  day  at  least." 

"  You  are  very  well  for  an  hour's  amusement — that's 
all."  With  those  words  surging  in  her  heart,  Honor 
answered  very  easily — 

"  Thank  you  again,  Mr.  Keith  ;  but  there  is  no  likelihood 
of  my  changing  my  mind,  so  I  will  say  good-bye." 

He  raised  his  hat,  and  turned  into  a  shop  near  which 
they  had  paused,  his  dogs  following  him,  while  Honor 
walked  on  slowly  up  the  quiet  street.  The  young  woman 
in  the  small  saddler's  shop  never  guessed  how  little  the 
gentleman  needed  the  dog-collar  he  bought.  She  knew 
him  well  by  sight,  and  had  often  looked  out  admiringly  upon 
him  as  he  passed  the  window.  He  looked  very  handsome 
DOW,  standing  beside  the  counter,  examining  the  collars  in 
silence,  and  she  was  glad  he  took  a  long  time  to  choose 
one.  But  her  warm  heart  would  hardly  have  been  glad, 
could  she  have  read  aright  the  sorrow  hidden  at  that 
moment  under  the  heavy  lashes  of  his  eyea. 

While  he  lingered  here  for  Honor's  sake,  she  walked  on 
through  the  town,  clinging  childishly  and  eagerly  to  one 
thought — 

"  He  said  it  ;  he  did  say  it.  Theodora  told  me  so.  It 
doesn't  matter  that  he  does  not  look  as  if  he  would  think 
it.  He  did  say  it.  Theodora  told  me  so." 

The  two  junior  clerks,  who  nourished  for  Honor,  in  good- 
natured  rivalry,  a  harmless  and  romantic  passion,  sprang 
from  their  stools  when  they  saw  her  enter  Mr.  Haughton's 
office,  and  volunteered,  in  a  breath,  to  go  themselves,  when 
she  told  them,  after  her  pleasant  greeting,  that  she  wanted  a 
messenger  sent  with  a  note  to  a  certain  surgery. 

"  I  will  wait  in  Mr.  Haughton's  room,"  she  said,  "  for 
the  answer." 

She  had  no  sooner  entered  the  lawyer's  private  office  than 
Mr.  Slimp  followed  her,  with  a  bland  apology  for  his 
master's  absence — 

**  Mr.  Haughton  was  summoned  to  a  client  who  lives  at 
least  seven  miles  away,  Miss  Craven,  and  I  know  it  is  his 
intention  to  drive  straight  from  there,  without  returning 
here  again." 


144  UU>  MYDDELTONS  MOSEY. 

In  vain  did  poor  Honor  try  to  hide  her  disappointment. 

"  I  suppose  there  is  a  train  this  evening,"  she  said,  taking 
np  a  time-table  with  fingers  that  trembled  with  nervousness. 

"  The  last  train  which  stops  at  Statton,  leaves  at  4.3<k, 
Miss  Craven,"  rejoined  Bickerton  Slimp,  with  great  officious- 
ness,  as  he  wheeled  round  Mr.  Haughton's  armchair  for  her, 
"  and  it  is  now  after  five.  How  may  I  assist  you  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  but  you  can  be  of  no  assistance  whatever," 
said  Honor,  moving  away  from  the  offered  chair. 

"  If  I  may  take  the  liberty  of  suggesting  that  I  walk 
back  with  you,"  proposed  Bickerton,  smiling. 

"  But  you  may  not  take  the  liberty,"  said  Honor,  with 
quiet  unconcern. 

"I  fear,  Miss  Craven,"  smiled  the  little  clerk, insinuatingly, 
as  he  rubbed  his  hands  softly  together,  "  that  I  must  be  rude 
enough  to  enforce  my  escort  upon  you.  Mr.  Haughton  would 
never  forgive  me,  if  I  allowed  you  unprotected  to  " 

"  Send  over  to  the  hotel,  if  you  please,"  interrupted 
Honor,  "  and  order  a  fly  for  me." 

Her  tone  was  quite  gentle,  and  even  betrayed  a  little 
of  the  timidity  she  felt,  but  there  was  in  it  a  note  of 
such  unquestionable  though  quiet  authority  that  Bickerton 
Slimp  turned  and  left  the  room  at  once  to  obey  her  orders. 
Whereabout,  on  his  way  to  the  hotel,  another  resolution 
crossed  his  mind,  he  could  not  himself  have  told. 

All  through  his  a1  sence  Honor  lingered  at  the  window 
where  she  had  taken  her  stand  when  Mr.  Slimp  had  in  ited 
her  to  the  fire,  and  some  one  opposite,  whom,  in  her  absent 
mood,  she  did  not  notice,  saw  her,  and  presently  she  was 
aware  that  the  bustling  figure  of  Mr.  Haughton's  chief  clerk 
— well  known  to  him — joined  her  at  the  window,  evidently 
to  tell  her  something  which  brought  a  startled  fear  into 
her  face. 

Prompt  in  all  he  did,  Royden  Keith  walked  downstairf 
and  out  into  the  hotel  yard,  from  which  he  '  ad  watched 
Mr.  Slimp  emerge.  A  few  steps  brought  him  to  where  one 
of  his  cwn  grooms  stood  chatting  with  an  ostler,  and  a  few 
words  explained  his  question. 

"  Mr.  Slimp,  sir,"  replied  the  ostler,  touching  his  hat  at 
every  other  word,  "  came  over  just  to  say  he  supposed  we 
Lad  no  fly  at  home  just  now." 


OLD  MYDDELTON  8  M01HSy»  145 

*  And  had  you?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  if  Mr.  Haughton  jg  at  his  office?" 

"  He  is  not,  sir.  He  drove  away  early  to-day.  1  took  the 
carriage  round  myself,  and  he  said  he  should  riot  be  back." 

Rojden  walked  straight  to  Mr.  Haugh ton's  office,  and 
upstairs  to  Lawrence  Haughton's  private  room. 

"Miss  Craven,"  he  said,  not  noticing  Mr.  Plimp's  dis- 
comfiture at  his  appearance,  nor  seeming  to  notice  how  she 
trembled  and  shrank  back,  as  if  afraid  of  herself  now  that 
he  had  appeared,  "  I  came  across  to  ask  you  if  3  ou  will  take 
a  seat  in  my  dog-cart.  I  am  sending  it  " — with  the  refine- 
ment inherent  in  him,  Royden  ignored  the  proposal  of  going 
himself — "  into  Station,  and  my  man  can  give  the  medicine 
in  at  East  Cottage,  and  drive  you  on  to  The  Larches.  I  am 
afraid  they  will  be  anxious  at  both  places  until  you  arrive, 
and  so  is  it  not  a  pity  to  linger  here  ?  " 

"  I  was  waiting  for  a  fly,"  said  Honor,  her  quiet  voice  falter* 
ing  a  little  ;  "  they  are  out  at  present,  so  I  am  watching  for 
one  to  return." 

"  There  is  a  fly  in  the  hotel  yard  now,  at  your  service,  if 
you  prefer  it,"  said  Royden,  without  a  glance  towards  where 
Mr.  Slimp  stood,  cowering  a  little  in  his  miserable  attempt 
at  ease.  "  Do  you  prefer  it  ?  ' 

"  Mr.  Slimp  told  me — he  understood,"  said  Honor,  watching 
curiously  the  face  of  her  guardian's  clerk,  "  that  they  were 
engaged,  and  I  could  not  have  one." 

"  Mr.  Slimp  told  you  so,"  returned  Royden,  with  calm 
irony,  ^  but  did  not  understand  so.  You  shall  go  as  you 
choose,  Miss  Craven.  Do  you  prefer  a  fly  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  please,"  said  Honor,  a  mist  of  tears  gather, 
ing  at  last  in  her  eyes  ;  so  like  a  child  she  felt  just  then, 
because  she  longed  to  let  him  decide  for  her  and  act  for  her, 
yet  rebelled  against  this  longing,  tearful  petulance. 

"  Mr.  Slimp,"  said  Royden,  "  will  go  across  again,  and 
this  time  will  bring  you  the  fly." 

Not  very  comfortable  were  the  feelings  of  Mr.  Bickerton 
filimp  as  he  left  the  office,  his  only  relief  being  the  discovery 
that  Mr.  Keith  was  following  him. 

By  the  time  the  fly  was  ready  to  leave  the  hotel  yard, 
Honor  was  at  the  outer  door  of  her  guardian's  offices,  but 


K6  OLD  XYDUELTON  S  MONET. 

her  heart  fell  to  eee  that  it  was  Bickerton  SI  imp  who  stood 
beside  the  hired  vehicle,  waiting  for  her.  Just  as  she  had 
taken  her  seat,  however,  Mr.  Keith  came  up. 

"  Is  it  so  ?"  he  asked,  closing  the  door  quietly  in  the 
clerk's  very  face,  as  he  was  on  the  point  of  entering  ;  "  is  it 
go,  Miss  Craven,  that  you  need  no  escort  now  ?  " 

"None,"  she  said  eagerly. 

"  I  think,"  he  reflected,  in  his  leisurely  tones,  "  that  it 
hardly  seems  worth  while  to  send  my  carriage  out,  now  that 
this  is  going  ;  and  so  may  I  beg  you  to  allow  my  man  a  seat 
on  the  box  here  ?  He  shall  be  no  hindrance  to  you — a  little 
help,  perhaps,  in  guiding  and  arranging  with  the  driver." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Honor. 

"  He  is  here  now,  and  will  be  much  obliged  for  the  seat," 
observed  Royden,  as  he  stepped  back  from  the  closed  door 
and  raised  his  hat.  Then,  with  great  relief,  Honor  watched 
Hoyden's  valet  mount  the  box  before  her. 

"  Stop  nowhere  on  your  way,  Pierce,  even  for  a  minute." 

"No,  sir." 

The  fly  drove  on,  and  Royden  turned  away,  with  just  one 
glance  of  coolest  scorn,  not  unmixed  with  amusement,  at  the 
baffled  little  clerk.  It  was  a  look  which  recalled  to  Bicker- 
ton  Slimp  that  (to  him)  unpleasant  evening  at  the  Myddel- 
ton  Arms,  when,  after  his  severe  castigation,  he  had  been  so 
coolly  followed  by  those  long  grey  eyes. 

"  I  haven't  forgotten,"  muttered  Bickerton,  clenching  hia 
fists,  as  he  mounted  the  office  stairs  again  ;  "  and  this  will 
make  me  doubly  remember.  I  shall  be  more  than  even  with 
'aim  yet — more  than  even." 

The  threat  was  heavy  and  portentous,  so  it  was  small 
that  the  wiry  little  form  snook  under  it 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Thousand  serfs  do  call  me  master — 
But,  0  love,  I  love  but  thee.        E.  B. 

HONOB  OaAVEK, — come   with  me   to-day  to  call    upoa 
friend  at  a  distance.    Mrs.  Disbrowe  provokes  me  beyond 


OLD  MYDDKLTON'S  MONET,  14? 

endurance  by  being  too  ill  to  make  herself  useful  in  any 
way.  I  shall  be  at  the  station  at  one  o'clock.  Mind  you 
are  punctual  ;  I  haie  unpunctuality,  which  is  only  another 
name  for  insult.  Never  mind  about  your  best  bonnet,  but 
be  sure  you  have  on  a  clean  collar. 

«  EDNA  PAYTE." 

Honor,  laughing  a  little  over  this  letter,  went  to  seek 
Miss  Haughton  and  beg  the  holiday. 

"  If  you  like  to  lower  yourself  by  being  at  the  beck  and 
call  of  every  old  woman  in  the  village,"  remarked  Jane,  with 
a  not  very  strict  adherence  to  fact,  "  I  have  nothing  to  say 
against  it.  Please  yourself." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Honor,  her  very  tone  betraying  Low, 
for  her,  the  chiefest  and  purest  pleasure  was  won  by  pleasing 
others. 

"Going  with  old  Mrs.  Payte  !"  exclaimed  Phoabe,  when 
she  found  her  cousin  dressed  to  start,  and  surreptitiously 
enjoying  bread-and-butter  beside  the  kitchen  fire.  "  Well, 
I  do  wish  you  joy,  Honor !  And  going  without  your 
luncheon  too  ! '' 

"  Yes  ;  and  without  the  faintest  idea  of  where  I'm  going, 
or  whom  I  am  going  to  see,"  observed  Honor,  gravely 
discussing  her  mild  repast. 

"  How  lovely  you  look  ! "  blurted  Phoebe,  unable  to 
restrain  her  admiration. 

"  Good-bye,  little  Frau." 
»*#•*•* 

Mrs.  Payte  was  impatiently  pacing  the  station  platform 
when  Honor  arrived,  and  she  turned  sharply  on  the  girl  with 
a  reprimand.  But  somehow  the  anger  left  her  eyes  when 
they  rested  on  the  beautiful  face  and  figure. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  she  mused,  half  closing  her 
shrewd  eyes  ;  "  Theodora  Trent  dresses  more  handsomely 
and  expensively,  and  Phoebe  Owen  more  showily,  yet  they 
never  look  as  Honor  does  ;  she  is  like  an  exquisite  picture." 

"  Of  course  you're  late,"  she  remarked,  aloud.  "  It's  old- 
fashioned  to  be  punctual.  Well,  never  mind  ;  next  century 
it  will  be  old-fashioned  to  be  late.  Now,  here's  the  train. 
Find  me  a  corner  seat,  with  my  back  to  the  engine." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  the  little  old  lady,  from  her 


H3  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

corner  seat,  as  the  train  rolled  on.  "  Is  my  bonnet  all  on 
one  side  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Honor,  ashamed  of  being  canght  in  her 
/mg  gaze  ;  "  I  was  only  thinking  how  very  nice  you  look." 

"Ah,  I  thought  something  surprised  you,"  observed  Mrs. 
Payte,  with  a  complacent  glance  into  the  window  beside  her, 
as  if  it  were  a  mirror.  "You  miss  my  brown  hat.  I  left 
it  at  home  for  to-day.  It's  against  my  principles  to  wear  a 
brown  hat  in  Friesland.  You  know  what  happened  to  the 
traveller  who  did  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Honor,  smiling,  "  I  don't  indeed." 

"  Well,  then,  you  ought  to  know  it,  though  I  can't  say 
Jhat  I  do.  At  any  rate  he  tried  to  go  through  Friesland  in 
ft  brown  hat,  and  he  couldn't ;  but  whether  he  escaped  with 
his  life  or  not  I  really  forget." 

"  What  do  they  wear  in  Friesland,  then  ?  " 

"  Wear  ! ,  It  would  take  me  all  our  journey  to  tell  yon. 
Knitted  caps  ;  then  high  silk  skull-caps  ;  then  metal  turbans, 
and  then  large  flaunting  bonnets. "  What's  the  use  of  laugh- 
ing ?  It's  the  custom  of  the  country." 

"Do  you  know  I  should  have  fancied" and  then 

Honor  stopped,  blushing. 

"  Fancied  what  ?  " 

"  That  you,"  resumed  Honor,  Daringly,  thongh  the  shy 
blush  deepened,  "  would  have  been  the  very  one  to  choose  a 
brown  hat  for  Friesland,  just  to  show  the  Frieslanders  how 
little  you  cared  for  their  option." 

"  Should  you  ?  "  questioned  the  old  lady,  very  slowly,  as 
she  favoured  Honor  with  a  long  and  trying  gaze.  "  That 
partiiularly  brilliant  idea  of  yours  is  founded  on  the  fact  of 
my  going  to  the  Abbotsmoor  pic-nic  in  my  gardening  hat 
and  gown.  How  very  little  discrimination  children  possess^ 
Now  amuse  yourself;  I  want  to  read  the  deaths." 

"  Langhain  Junction  !     Change  here  Jw-" 

"  Oh,  my  goodness,  Honor  !  "  cried  fp^.  Payte,  rousing 
herself  in  great  excitement.  "  Perhapswe  have  to  change 
too.  (ruard,  guard  !  " 

The  guard  came  up  to  the  carriage  door,  too  much 
accustomed  to  the  frantic  excitement  of  lady  passengers  even 
to  smile. 

"  Do  we  change  here  for  Westleigh — Westleigh  Towers  ? 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  1 49 

I  don't  think  this  was  the  name  of  the  station,  and  yet  1 
forget." 

"  You  can  reach  Westleigh  Towers  from  here,"  the  guard 
laid  politely,  "  hut  it's  a  very  long  drive,  ma'am.  This  train 
Btops  at  Westleigh,  two  stations  on  ;  that's  best  for  you. 

"  We  are  to  be  met,  so  pray  direct  us  rightly,"  observed 
Mrs.  Payte,  settling  herself  in  her  seat  again. 

"  If  the  carriage  from  The  Towers  is  to  meet  you,  miss," 
the  man  said,  addressing  Honor  now,  "it  will  be  at  West- 
leigh station.  It's  often  there,  and  they  wouldn't  be  so  silly 
as  to  send  here,  unless  it  was  to  meet  a  train  that  went  no 
further  than  the  junction." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  How  officious  those  railway  men  are  !  "  remarked  Mrs. 
Payte,  pulling  up  the  window  sharply.  "  Why  didn't  he  say 
*  Yes  'or  '  No '  at  once,  and  have  done  with  it  ?  There, 
don't  argue  for  them,  pray.  Here  are  the  papers  full  of 
arguments — except  the  deaths.  Now  look  out  for  our  station. 
What ! "  she  cried,  when  Honor  roused  her  presently 
"  Westleigh  already  ?  Are  you  quite  sure  ?  Make  in- 
quiries." 

Honor  pointed  to  the  name,  painted  in  huge  letters  on  a 
board  above  the  platform. 

"  Oh,  nonsense  ;  one  can't  trust  those  things,"  grumbled 
the  old  lady,  fussily.  "  Ask  a  porter." 

Honor  asked  a  porter,  her  eyes  full  of  irrepressible  laugh- 
ter. Yes  ;  that  was  Westleigh,  and  a  carriage  was  waiting. 

Honor  looked  a  little  curiously  at  this  carriage  when  she 
saw  it  outside  the  station  gate.  It  was  a  long  barouche,  and 
the  coachman  on  the  box,  and  the  footman  who  held  the  door 
were  dressed  in  a  handsome  livery  of  white  and  green. 

"I  have Where  have  I  seen  that  livery  before  ?" 

thought  Honor.  "  Mrs.  Payte,  have  I  ever  seen  this  carriage 
at  your  door  ? '"  she  asked,  as  they  drove  on,  the  servants 
being  so  far  before  them,  in  the  long  carriage,  that  there 
was  no  fear  of  the  conversation  being  heard. 

"  Never." 

"»Have  I  seen  the  servants  at  your  cottage?"  she  con- 
thaued,  still  puzzled. 

"No  ;  what  should  bring  them  to  my  cottage  ?  My  being 
met  so  to-day  is  no  proof  that  I'  te  a  visiting  list  of  aristo- 


150  OLD  MYDDELTON  8  MONET. 

crats  ;  don 't  imagine  it.  I  know  no  more  of  Westleigh 
Towers  at  this  moment  than  you  do  ;  but  I  like  the  owner 
of  it,  and  when  he  asked  me  to  go  to-day  I  said  I  would. 
There's  no  mystery  about  the  thing  at  all.  Where  are  we 
turning  ?  Oh,  this,  I  suppose,  is  the  park." 

**  I — I — wish  I  had  not  come,"  Honor  faltered,  nervously, 
as  she  gazed  before  her. 

For  miles  the  park  stretched  around  them,  wooded  and 
undulated,  crossed  by  its  silvery  stream,  and  necked  by  its 
roaming  herds  of  deer  ;  but  almost  close  to  them  rose  The 
Towers,  built  in  solid  stone,  and  with  the  faultless  propor- 
tions of  the  best  time  of  Gothic  architecture  ;  and  Honor's 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  one  figure,  standing  then  upon  the 
wide  steps,  waiting  for  the  carriage. 

"  Mrs.  Payte,"  she  said,  below  her  breath,  "  whom  have 
you — come  to  see  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Keith,  child.    Don't  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  He  lives  here  then,  alone  ?  " 

"  He  lives  here,  certainly,"  returned  the  old  lady,  with  a 
grim  little  smile.  "  As  for  '  alone,'  that's  a  question  I  can't 
answer.  I  have  heard  something  about  an  old  lady  who 
lives  with  him  ;  but  whether  its  true  or  not,  and  whether,  if 
it's  true,  she's  any  relation  or  not,  I'm  sure  I  cannot  say. 
We  may  possibly  see  her  to-day." 

"  I  wish  I  had  not  come." 

Fortunately  Mrs.  Payte  did  not  chance  to  hear  that  last 
remark,  for  she  was  fussily  preparing  to  alight  ;  snd  now 
Hoyden  Keith  stood  beside  the  carriage-door,  and  Honor's 
hand  was  in  his. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said,  with  quiet  heartiness. 

"  How  d'ye  do  ?  You  seem  to  have  a  house  full  of  visitors," 
observed  Mrs.  Payte,  in  a  breath,  as  she  glanced  towards  the 
windows. 

"  Only  old  friends — whom  you  have  met  before." 

"  Oh  ! " 

The  news  seemed  to  mollify  the  old  lady  considerably,  and 
she  walked  placidly  into  the  midst  of  these  "  old  friends," 
more  than  one  of  whom  had  stared  with  a  feeling  deeper  and 
more  dangerous  than  curiosity,  to  see  her  driving  up  in  such 
Btyle,  and  bringing  Honor  with  her.  Theodora  Trent  turned 
from  the  window,  with  he/  teeth  tight  upon  her  under-lip. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  151 

u  For  her  to  come  !  "  she  thought.  "  How  meanly  it  has 
been  arranged ! " 

"  Theo,  my  dear,"  whispered  her  mother,  startled,  "  that 
horrible  little  woman's  sharp  eyes  are  upon  you,  and  I  believe 
she  would  tell  anything  to  either  Mr.  Keith  or  Hervey.  Don't 
let  her  have  cause  to  say  you  are  jealous,  my  dear.  Shew 
your  superiority  over  Honor.  She  will  hardly  know  how  to 
conduct  herself  in  such  a  magnificent  place  as  this,  while  you 
will  show  yourself  quite  at  home." 

But  even  this  delicate  maternal  compliment  could  not 
soothe  Theodora's  ruffled  feelings,  and  she  had  great  difficulty 
in  regaining  her  calm  and  gracious  bearing.  She  felt  baffled 
and  angry,  as  she  had  never  felt  before  in  all  her  life.  For 
weeks  she  had  been  looking  forward  to  this  day  ;  and  so 
strongly  had  she  hinted  to  Mr.  Keith  that  she  should  have 
more  pleasure  in  her  visit  if  she  did  not  meet  her  own  rela- 
tions at  his  house,  that  she  felt  quite  sure  she  should  not  be 
subjected  to  the  mortification  of  seeing  Honor  there.  Yet 
now,  just  when  the  pleasure  of  the  day  was  beginning, 
that  odious  old  woman — with  whom  Miss  Trent  never 
had  had,  and  never  could  have,  a  moment's  patience — 
had  been  received  as  an  esteemed  guest,  and  had  brought 
Honor. 

What  a  day  it  was  !  When  Honor  described  it  that  night 
to  wondering,  envious  little  Phcebe,  the  description  read  like 
a  page  from  the  Arabian  Nights. 

"  I  really  cannot  tell  why  it  seemed  so  beautiful,  and  bright, 
and  pleasant.  It  was  Mr.  Keith's  doing,  I  suppose,  for  after 
all,  the  lovely  rooms,  and  pictures,  and  flowers,  and  silver,  and 
china,  and  the  lots  of  servants  and  space,  were  not  the  real 
cause.  The  laughter  and  enjoyment  were  quite  real.  Every- 
body did  exactly  what  they  liked  ;  and  in  the  park  a  band 
played  splendidly  all  the  time.  Yes,  it  was  Tery  pleasant, 
and — I  suppose  Mr.  Keith  made  it  so." 

Honor  was  right.  The  real  pleasure  of  the  day  was  owing 
far  more  to  the  host  than  to  the  beauty  or  the  luxury  of  hia 
house  ;  yet  few  of  the  guests  could  have  defined — any  more 
distinctly  than  Honor  did — how  this  could  be. 

*'  Keith,"  said  Sir  Philip  Somerson,  shading  his  eyes  with 
his  hand,  as  he  stood  upon  the  steps  before  the  chief  entrance 
to  The  Towers,  and  looked  across  to  a  distant  wooded  ppct  in 


lt>2  OLD  MYDDKLTON'S  MONET. 

the  park,  "  there  is  a  string  of  people  passing — quite  a  crowd 
What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  They  are  the  mill-hands,"  said  Royden,  "  going  home." 

"  What !  making  a  thoroughfare  of  your  park  ?  " 

"  Yes  -,  it  saves  them  quite  a  mile,  and  is  a  pleasant  walk." 

"By  Jove,  yon  are  a  reckless  fellow  to  allow  it  !  "  ex- 
claimed the  baronet,  though  he  watched  the  passing  figures 
with  a  good  deal  of  interest.  "  They  will  take  all  kinds  of 
liberties  presently,  and  expect  you,  I  should  not  wonder,  to 
throw  the  whole  park  open  to  them — perhaps  you  do  ? " 

"  Now  and  then,  in  summer-time,"  said  Royden,  laughing 
at  the  abrupt  question.  "  To  see  their  enjoyment  of  that 
day  is  worth  something,  I  can  assure  you." 

"  Bad  precedent,"  observed  Sir  Philip,  vexed  to  find  that 
his  words  would  not  sound  so  sharp  as  he  meant  them  to  do. 
"  I  once  threw  open  Somerson  Park  for  an  excursion,  and 
the  snobs  cut  off  five  hundred  of  my  young  trees  for  walking- 
sticks.  I  have  kept  my  grounds  to  myself  since  then." 

"  The  cases  are  different,  Sir  Philip.  They  were  strangers 
to  you,  and  most  probably  not  the  poor." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  to  insinuate,"  laughed  the  baronet, 
"that  these  poor  fellows,  with  their  overworked  wives,  and 
children,  and  sweethearts,  would  scorn  to  take  advantage  of 
A  patron  they  were  fond  of  ?  Wait  and  see." 

He  strolled  away  then,  with  the  rest  of  the  company,  enjoy- 
ing a  little  desultory  chat  here,  and  music  there;  now  a  game, 
at  which  he  would  laugh  as  heartily  as  a  boy,  and  now  a  grave 
discussion  on  a  work  of  art  or  scientific  specimen. 

"  Mr.  Keith,"  called  Lady  Somerson  from  one  of  the 
mul'.ioned  windows,  "that  sandy  bay  would  be  a  favourite 
resort  of  mine,  if  I  lived  here." 

"  I  fancy  not,"  said  Royden,  joining  her,  "for  you  would 
soon  learn  its  treachery.  There  are  times  when  the  tide 
oomes  sweeping  into  that  bay  with  an  almost  sudden  rush. 
It  is  two  miles  in  width  ;  and,  unless  you  can  be  quite  sure 
vf  the  tide,  and  have  a  fleet  horse,  it  is  dangerous  to  venture 
there.  I  once  rode  home  that  way  from  the  junction,  when 
the  train  did  not  come  on  to  Westleigh,  but  my  horse  was 
fresh  and  the  tide  on  the  ebb." 

"  Touwill  surely  never  do  that  again,  Mr.  Keith,"  put  in 
Mrs,  Payte.  "Just  fancy  anyone  standing  at  this  window, 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  153 

and  watching  you  start  to  cross  those  sands.  You  know 
that  a  couple  of  miles  is  not  accomplished  in  a  breath,  how- 
ever fleet  the  horse  may  be  ;  and  a  year's  agony  might  be 
condensed  into  five  minutes,  for  anyone  watching  you  from 
here — anyone  who  cared  for  you." 

"There  is  no  fear,"  said  Royden,  laughing. 

"  No  fear  of  your  riding  home  along  the  coast  again," 
smiled  Theodora,  "  or  no  fear  of  anyone  being  frightened  to 
see  it  ?  " 

"That's  it,"  laughed  Sir  Philip.  "Keith  knows  that 
only  a  wife  would  be  frightened,  so,  to  save  her  fear,  he  will 
not  bring  a  wife  here  at  all.  He  says,  like  Benedick,  '  One 
woman  is  fair,  yet  I  am  well  ;  another  is  wise,  yet  I  am 
well  ;  another  virtuous,  yet  I  am  well  ;  but,  till  all  graces 
be  in  one  woman,  one  woman  shall  not  come  in  my  grace." 
Is  not  that  it,  Keith  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  will  you  ever  find  such  a  one  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Trent, 
with  an  effort  at  motherly  interest,  and  a  struggling  effort, 
too,  to  discriminate  between  the  jesting  and  the  earnest. 

"  Such  a  one  as  whom  ?  " 

"I  mean — "  began  Mrs.  Trent,  in  reply,  but  then  halted. 

"  We  all  mean,"  interposed  Mrs.  Payte,  without  any  hesi- 
tation at  all,  "  that  we  are  dying  with  curiosity  to  know  what 
sort  of  a  wife  you  intend  to  bring  to  this  matchless  home." 

" '  Eich  she  shall  be,' "  quoted  Hoyden,  his  eyes  full  of 
laughter  as  he  looked  down  into  the  little  lady's  eager  face  ; 
"  what  comes  next  ?  Oh,  I  know — '  wise,  or  I'll  none  ;  vir- 
tuous, fair,  mild,  noble,  of  good  discourse,  an  excellent  musi- 
cian, and  her  hair  shall  be  what  colour  it  shall  please  God.'" 

"  She  is  to  be  rich  to  begin  with,  is  she,  Mr.  Keith  ? " 
smiled  Theodora,  feeling  herself,  in  that  respect,  at  least,  the 
only  eligible  person  present. 

"Yes,  rich  first  of  all.  It  is  a  word  with  a  wide  meaning, 
Miss  Trent.  That  gong  is  summoning  us  to  tea  ;  will  you 
come?" 

They  saw  again  that  he  wished  to  put  a  stop  to  the  con- 
versation, and  so  they  sauntered  on,  talking  of  other  things. 

At  the  far,  dim  end  of  the  picture-gallery,  Honor  stood 
alone,  gazing  in  rapt  admiration  on  a  marble  statue  of  Leda 
bending  over  the  water's  brink  and  looking  down  with 


154  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

wondering  earnestness  upon  the  graceful  swan  which  bore  to 
h^r  the  spirit  of  the  monarch  of  the  gods.  A  light  and 
faultless  figure,  with  hands  clasped  and  head  bent  forward, 
pausing  among  the  flowers  on  the  water's  brim,  listening, 
yet  starting  back  a  little,  hesitating,  yet  snaling  coyly  ; 
pleased  almost  as  if  the  Olympian  deity  had  wooed  her  in 
his  own  form.  Honor  stood  with  her  back  to  the  window  ; 
and,  through  the  stained  glass  above  her,  fell  a  richly-tinted 
light  upon  the  chiselled  figure  ;  so  beautiful,  she  thought,  so 
passing  beantiful !  But  some  one,  advancing  along  the  car- 
peted gallery,  saw  the  rich  warm  light  lie  on  the  living  h'gure 
too,  and  gave  no  thought  to  the  beauty  of  the  lifeless  one. 

"  Miss  Honor,  why  did  you  creep  away  from  us  while  we 
gtood  talking  a  few  minutes  ago  ?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  look  once  more  at  that,1'  she  eaid,  daintily 
leading  Royden's  eyes  from  her  face,  where  she  felt  the  colour 
rising,  hard  as  she  strove  to  prevent  it. 

"  And  you  were  weary  of  our  talk,"  he  said,  with  gentle- 
ness ;  "it  shall  never  weary  you  again.  Of  my  own  will  I 
would  not  have  mentioned  that  subject  to-day.  Since  you 
and  I  walked  into  Kinbury  together  that  afternoon,  even  a 
thought  of  marriage  has  never  entered  my  heart.  It  never 
can  again.  You  know  the  answer  to  all  their  jesting  ques- 
tions. You  know  whom  I  love,  and  whom  alone  I  could 
ever  ask  to  be  my  wife,  and  live  with  me  in  this  solitary 
home.  You  have  told  me,  Honor,  that  this  longing  of 
mine  is  never  likely  to  be  fulfilled,  and,  knowing  this,  you 
understand  what  a  lonely  life  mine  will  be.  Is  it  not  so  ?" 

Oh,  why  had  he  come  to  her?  Why  had  he  come  just 
then,  when  her  thoughts  were  full  of  him,  as  they  used  to  be 
before  Theodora  repeated  those  words  of  his  ?  Why  had  he 
spoken  of  this  again — here,  in  his  home,  where,  with  all  his 
power,  hewas  so  gentle  and  so  kind  ?  Why,  above  all,  would 
her  heart  beat  even  now  at  the  slightest  tone  of  his  voice  ? 

Slowly  and  emphatically  did  Honor  insist  on  repeating  to 
herself  his  speech  to  Theodora,  but  even  then  the  old  spirit 
of  anger  was  scarcely  invoked  with  strength  enough  for 
armour. 

"  Where  is  everybody  gone  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  down 
the  long  gallery  with  apparent  unconcern,  as  she  saoved  »way 
from  before  the  statue. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MOtfBY.  153 

"  Honor,  I  will  never  speak  to  you  of  this  after  to-night. 
Only  let  me  ask  you  the  question  once  more — now  in  all 
earnestness.  If  you  think  you  might  care  for  me  at  some 
future  time,  tell  me  to  wait,  and  I  will  ask  you  again. 
Seven  years'  waiting  would  be  nothing  to  me,  if,  at  the  end 
of  the  seven  years  you  could  lay  your  hand  in  mine,  and  say 
you  loved  me  then  and  would  be  my  wife.  Waiting  !  How 
could  I  think  tvaiting  hard,"  said  Royden,  drawing  his  hand 
wearily  across  his  brow,  "  when,  if  you  say  '  No '  to  me  to- 
night, all  the  years  I  have  to  live  will  be  but  waiting  years?" 

"  She  does  very  well  for  an  hour's  amusement,  but  no  man 
could  bestow  on  her  a  strong  affection." 

The  unforgotten  words  started  out  clearly  and  distinctly 
before  Honor's  mental  eyes.  He  to  speak  so  of  her,  and 
then  to  mock  her  with  this  question  ! 

"  I  wonder  where  Mrs.  Payte  can  be,"  she  said,  with  the 
greatest  nonchalance.  "  Don't  let  us  talk  on  this  subject 
any  more,  please,  Mr.  Keith.  Where  are  we  going  now  ?  " 

"Downstairs,  where  they  are  having  tea — if  you  like." 

"Yes;  I  like  anywhere  where  other  people  are.  lam 
tired  of  being  alone." 

"And  with  me." 

Honor's  heart  beat  with  a  strange,  sudden  pain  ;  born 
of  the  consciousness  that  all  real  weariness  would  lie  on  the 
paths  he  did  not  tread  with  her.  But  it  was  better  so  ; 
besides,  it  was  too  late  now;  and  he  had  said  those  terrible 
things  of  her  to  Theodora. 

Despite  these  thoughts — perhaps,  indeed,  owing  to  these 
thoughts — Honor  was  one  of  the  merriest  of  Mr.  Keith's? 
guests  during  that  sociable  and  luxurious  tea ;  and 
Theodora's  eyebrows  were  so  constantly  raised  in  super- 
cilious astonishment  that  Mrs.  Payte  whispered  to  Honor  a 
serious  doubt  as  to  whether  they  could  ever  again  assume 
their  original  position. 

"  She  has  a  hundred  extra  airs  and  graces  on  to-night. 
She  would  have  no  objection  to  reign  as  mistress  in  such  a 
place  as  this,  Honor  ;  but  I  hope  he  will  not  choose  her. 
Come,  are  you  ready  ?  We  have  stayed  late  enough." 

"  I  am  ready — quite  ready,"  the  girl  said,  almost  eagerly. 

"  I  have  enjoyed  this  day  very  much,"  observed  the  old 
hidy  while  she  put  on  her  bonnet,  and  Honor  stood  waiting 


156  OLD  MYDDELTON  S  MONEl. 

for  her  in  the  warm  and  beautiful  chamber.  "  Mr.  Keith 
has  made  it  very  pleasant,  but  then  of  course  any  wealthy 
man  could.  L 'argent  fail  tout" 

"  Hardly,"  said  Honor,  staunchly  enough  now.  "  Every- 
one could  not  have  done  it,  even  with  the  argent." 

"  Don't  argue,  child.  I'm  generalising.  II  y  afayots  ei 
fa/jots.  I  know  that ;  but  I'm  accustomed  to  say  what  I 
mean.  Even  if  Captain  Trent  had  been  our  wealthy  boat 
to-d;ty,  wouldn't  he  have  made  us  all  happy?  " 

Honor  laughed  merrily. 

"  At  any  rate  he  would  not  have  made  us  unhappy,"  she 
eaid,  her  thoughts  flying  from  him  to  the  one  who  had  the 
greater  power. 

"  No  ;  and  I  can  tell  you  he  chooses  a  good  safe  part. 
It's  far  easier  not  to  act  at  all,  than  to  act  well  ;  and  he's 
pretty  safe.  Now  come  down.'' 

The  maid-servant,  who  had  lingered  at  the  door  when 
Mrs.  Payte  declined  her  services,  led  them  downstairs  again 
to  the  great  hall,  and  then  disappeared.  One  moment  after- 
wards Honor  missed  her  handkerchief;  and  turning  un- 
observed, she  ran  lightly  up  the  stairs  again.  She  could 
easily,  she  fancied,  find  her  way  to  the  room  she  had  just 
quitted  ;  but,  when  she  reached  the  gallery  from  which  the 
chamber  door  opened,  she  paused,  forgetting  whether  the 
maid  had  led  them  towards  the  right  or  lei  . 

"  I  think  I  remember,"  she  said  to  herself,  presently,  and 
hurried  to  the  right.  "  Certainly  this  was  the  outer  door  " 

It  was  a  red  cloth  door,  and  moved  on  a  noiseless  spring. 
Stepping  through,  Honor  found  hersell  in  a  small  ante-room, 
and,  opposite  her,  another  door  stood  open.  For  a  few 
breathless  seconds  Honor  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  gazing 
fixedly  through  this  door  into  the  room  beyond ;  an 
elegantly  and  luxuriously-furnished  room,  with  books  and 
music  and  ornaments  in  profusion,  with  soft  beautiful  work 
scattered  about,  and  flowers  in  a  perfect  wealth  of  loveli- 
ness. But  Honor's  eyes  dwelt  only  upon  a  figure  which 
stood  within  her  sight  upon  the  hearth,  dressed  in  girlish 
white.  A  lady,  young  and  very  pale  and  fragile-looking,  but 
with  the  light  of  some  happy,  tender  thought  upon  her  face. 

"  It  is — her  home,"  felt  Honor,  gliding  from  the  room 
with  her  hands  locked  in  an  agony  of  which  she  was  just 


OLD  MYDDELTOltS  MONET.  157 

then  unconscious  ;  "  and  she  is  thinking  of  him.      What 
a  long,  loving,  bappy  thought  it — was  ! " 

Swiftly  and  lightly  retracing  her  steps,  Honor  saw  he? 
handkerchief  at  last,  and  stooped  to  pick  it  up.  Then  she 
joined  Mrs.  Payte  once  more,  and  no  one  guessed  what  pain 
lay  at  the  girl's  heart. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Eoyden,  as  he  stood  at  the  carriage 
door  in  the  gathering  darkness. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said,  with  one  long  glance  into  his  face, 
reading  it  with  piteous  earnestness,  there  in  the  fading  light, 
and  finding  no  shade  of  sin  or  shame  upon  it.  "  Good-bye." 

"Well,  I  must  say,"  observed  Mrs.  Payte,  breaking  in 
upon  Honor's  silence  as  they  drove  to  the  station,  "  I  ex- 
pected the  old  aunt,  or  great-aunt,  or  grandmother,  or 
whatever  she  may  be,  would  have  shown  herself  to-day,  to 
do  the  honours  to  lady-guests .  She  can  surely  have  no  reason 
for  keeping  herself  hidden,  like  that  wife  of  Mr.  Kochester 
in  Charlotte  Bronte's  novel.  What  made  you  start,  child? '' 

"  It  is  cold,"  said  Honor,  drawing  her  shawl  about  her, 
and  shrinking  a  little  in  her  corner  of  the  carriage. 

"  Humph,  you're  not  generally  a  cold  subject,"  retorted 
the  old  lady,  brusquely.  But  she  said  nothing  more  till 
they  were  in.  the  railway  carriage,  when  she  promptly  and 
kindly  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XV, 

Ha  !  ha!    It  will  speed,  it  will  speed,  it  will  speed; 
Resistance  is  vain  —  we  are  sure  to  succeed. 

Carillon  National  of  the  French  Revolution 


found  her  guardian  waiting  for  her  at  the  Kinbury 
Station,  although  Mrs.  Payte  had  left  word  that  they  would 
drive  home  from  there,  r.3  the  train  did  not  stop  at  Station, 
At  East  Cottage,  Honor  waited  to  hear  tidings  of  Mrs. 
Disbrowe.  Then  she  walked  on  with  Lawrence  in  the  quiet 
moonlight,  her  heart  still  so  heavy  that  she  could  scarcely 
follow  his  words. 

But  when  she  was  again  with  Jane  and  Phoebe  in  the 
commonplace  rooms  at  The  Larches,  these  sad  and  dreamy 


15g  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

thoughts  were  necessarily  dispelled,  and  then  she  longed 
to  put  away,  with  them,  all  mention  of  lloydens  name. 
But  this  she  found  impossible.  Phoebe  asked  a  hundred 
questions  about  him  and  his  home  ;  Lawrence  brought  the 
subject  forward  again  and  again,  contemptuously,  and  yet  as 
if  with  some  purpose  ;  while  Jane  spoke  of  him  with  surly 
inuendoes,  hardest  of  all  to  bear.  At  last  Honor,  having 
kept  silence  as  long  as  she  could,  turned  defiantly  upon  them. 

"  You  don't  any  of  yon  know  him  better  than  i  do,  rt 
well      Then  how  dare  you  speak  of  him  so  ?" 

Jane  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  girl,  in  stolid  astonishment ; 
but  Lawrence  rose,  and  paced  the  room  m  wrath.  ^ 

"Your  ideas  are  utterly  childish,  Honor,"  he  said,  trym 
in  vain  to  suppress  the  anger  of  his  tones,    He  has  deceived 
you  iuat  as  he  has  deceived  every  one  else.  . 

"That  is  a  falsehood,  Lawrence,"  she  affirmed  quietly. 
»  It  is  not  a  falsehood,"  he  returned,  losing  all  control 
over  himself.    "  He  is  here  under  false  pretences.   You  a; 
credulous,  and  fancy  him  the  honourable  man  he  would 
appear  to  be.    I  know  him  to  be  the  very  reverse. 

"  I  know  him   as  an   honourable   man,"  the   girl 
steadily  ;  but  she  knew  full  well  in  what  a  different  tone 
she  would  have  asserted  this  before  that  night. 

«  You  will  see,"  muttered  Lawrence,  savagely.  »« 

have  evidence  to  prove  it  soon,  and  I  can  assert  it  anywhere. 

«'  You  ou-rht  not  to  have  asserted  it  even  here,  to  us, 
unless  you  had  evidence  to  prove  it,"  she  remarked  ;  b 
the  unconcern  now  was  an  effort  to  her. 

« I  will  have  my  proof  before  I  tell  everything,  even  to 
vou,"  said  Mr.  Hanghtcn,  pausing  before  her.  "My  news 
will  stagger  you,  I  dare  say,  but  you  will  know  then,  as  1 
do,  that  he  is  not  an  honourable  man." 

"  I  hope,"  observed  Honor,  smiling  coldly, 
gearch  for  proof  of  a  man's  dishonour  you  have  the  inesti- 
mable advantage  of  Mr.  Blimp's  assistance." 

"  By  Heaven" ,        ,, 

'« Hush,  Lawrence  !  "  pleaded  the  girl,  grave  and  gentle 
again  "  When  you  utter  that  word  so  heedlessly,  1  am 
afraid  to  think  how  heedless  your  thought  of  it  must  be. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Honor,"  put  in  Phoebe,  hastening 
to  drown  this  speech,  lest  it  should  offend  her  guardian. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  159 

"  Mr.  Stafford  brought  us  definite  news  to-day  ;  we  are  to 
meet  Lady  Lawrence  in  her  London  house  on  the  first  of 
December.  Don't  you  feel  excited,  Honor  ?  " 

"  This  fuss  will  hinder  me  in  collecting  my  proofs,"  said 
Mr.  Haughton,  "but  the  short  delay  will  not  signify." 

"  Did  you  walk  over  and  see  Mrs.  Disbrowe,  Phoebe  ?  " 

"No." 

"Oh  ! — and  you  promised  me  !  She  has  been  alone  almost 
all  day." 

"  And  if  she  has,"  remarked  Jane,  "  it  does  not  oblige 
you  loth  to  become  her  slaves.  Phoebe  is  idle  enough, 
Honor,  without  your  teaching  her  to  be  more  so.  How  is 
that  ?  You  have  two  handkerchiefs  in  your  hand.  What 
eilly  extravagance  to  carry  two  at  a  time  !  " 

"  I  did  not  know  I  had  two,"  said  Honor,  good-humour- 
edly.  "  Have  I  taken  up  one  of  yours  since  I  came  in  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Payte  gave  you  one  when  we  stopped  at  the  cot- 
tage," remarked  Lawrence.  "She  said  she  found  it  at 
Westleigh  Towers,  and  it  had  your  name  upon  it ;  don't  you 
recollect  her  saying  so  ?  " 

"Then  the  other,  I  suppose" began  Honor.  But 

then  she  stopped  suddenly,  with  a  burning  colour  in  her 
cheeks.  The  handkerchief  she  held  was  the  one  she  had 
picked  up  in  the  gallery  at  Westleigh,  just  after  leaving  that 
room  where  she  had  seen  a  lady  standing  alone  beside  the 
fire  ;  and  now  her  eyes  had  fallen  upon  a  name  embroidered 
daintily  across  one  corner — "  ALICE." 

"  I  have  brought  this  one  by  mistake,"  she  said,  putting 
it  back  into  her  pocket ;  while  the  colour  faded  from  her 
cheeks,  and  left  her  face,  for  one  moment,  white  even  to  the 
lips.  "  I  was  very  careless." 

"  Theodora  Trent's,  I  suppose,"  grumbled  Miss  Haughton. 
"  It  is  a  stupid  habit  of  hers  to  drop  handkerchiefs  about. 
Mind  you  send  it  back,  Honor." 

But,  in  spite  of  this  order,  when  Honor  at  last  found 
herself  alone  in  her  own  room,  she  locked  the  handkerchief 
iafely  away. 

"  It  will  be  better  so,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  puzzled 
thoughtfulness  upon  her  face  ;  "  better  so  than  have  to  teL 
what  I  saw.  It  will  be  quite  safe,  and  no  one  will  ever  know." 

Hour  after  hour,  Honor  lay  awake  that  night,  thoughts 


160  OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

crowding  upon  thoughts,  and  words  which  she  had  heard 
that  duy  haunting  her  with  unresting  persistency  ;  as  words 
will  often  do  through  those  night-hours  when,  if  sleep  will 
not  come,  memory  is  BO  keen,  and  thought  so  painfully 
intense. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  most  delicate  of  all  pleasures  consists  in  proraoti/g  the 
pleasures  of  others.  LA  BRCTERE. 

THE  day  was  rapidly  approaching  on  which  old  Myddel ton's 
relatives  were  to  meet  Lady  Lawrence  in  London,  and  the 
excitement  among  them  was  general,  though  very  differently 
betrayed.  Mr.  Stafford — Lady  Lawrence's  lawyer — had 
been  again  in  Statton,  to  complete  his  arrangements  for  the 
meeting,  and  Theodora  had  made  much  of  him  at  Deergrove. 
This  excitement  helped  Miss  Trent  to  bear  the  absence  of 
Royden  Keith,  whom  she  had  not  seen  since  the  day  she  had 
spent  at  Westleigh  Towers.  Pho3be's  effervescence  knesv  no 
bounds  when  she  discussed  Lady  Lawrence  and  her  will : 
and  Mr.  Haughton  himself  could  not  quite  hide  or  subdue 
his  mingled  curiosity  and  expectation. 

"  In  the  midst  of  all  this  to-do,"  remarked  Mrs.  Payte, 
rousing  herself  from  a  nap  by  the  fire,  when  Honor  one  day 
walked  softly  into  Mrs.  Disbrowe's  sick-room,  "  I  only  won- 
der you  waste  your  time  and  energy  here.  Selina  does  venf 
well  without  you,  child  ;  and  you  ought  to  be  rehearsing 
what  your  behaviour  in  London  shall  be — as  the  others  are." 

"With  only  a  quiet  smile  and  nod,  Honor  passed  on  to  the 
bed-side,  and  took  her  seat  beside  it ;  talking  to  the  invalid 
for  a  time,  undisturbed — much  to  her  surprise — by  the  rest 
less  little  old  lady  at  the  fire. 

"  How  do  the  preparations  go  on  for  this  grand  event. 
Honor?"  inquired  Mrs.  Payte,  at  last,  unable  to  keep  a 
longer  silence.  "There  is  but  a  fortnight,  you  know." 

In  her  low,  pleasant  voice,  Honor  told  a  few  particulars 
which  she  thought  would  amuse  the  sick  lady,  but  they 
evidently  did  not  satisfy  the  healthy  one,  being  totally 
deyoid  of  malice  and  even  ridicule. 


CM)  MYDDELTON  S  MONET.  161 

"  Did  Mr.  Stafford  help  you  at  all,  by  warning  you  oi 
any  of  Lady  Lawrence's  eccentricities  or  hobbies  ?  " 

''•  A  little,"  laughed  Honor.  "  He  advised  us  all  to  dress 
very  simply  and  quietly,  as  she  is  particularly  neat  in  her 
taste ;  and  he  advised  Lawrence  and  Hervey  to  be  genial 
and  unaffected." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Mrs.  Payte,  with  a  chuckle  of  enjoyment, 
"that's  good  !  So  thoroughly  against  nature — eh  ?  How  will 
Theodora  Trent  bear  to  dress  simply,  and  Plioebe  quietly? 
And  how  can  Mr.  and  Miss  Haughton  be  genial,and  Captain 
Trent  unaffected  ?  I  should  like  to  be  in  the  green-room 
when  you  all  dress  for  the  stage.  "What  shall  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  ?    Nothing,  Mrs.  Payte  ;  why  should  I  ?  " 

"  Because  you'll  be  a  goose  if  you  don't." 

"  Then  I  shall  be  a  goose,"  said  Honor,  laughing.  "  Don't 
you  think  Lady  Lawrence  would  rather  see  us  as  we  are 
than  acting  for  the  occasion  ? " 

"  What  will  she  know  about  the  acting  ?  Her  lawyer  won't 
tell  her  he  has  put  you  on  your  guard,  never  tear.  Take  ad- 
vantage of  his  help,  child,  and  act  and  dress  as  he  proposes." 

"  No,"  said  Honor,  shaking  her  head  merrily,  "  for  he  did 
not  tell  it  as  a  message  to  us.  She  expects  us  all  to  be 
ratural  before  her." 

"  But  what  does  that  matter  ?  "  insisted  the  old  lady,  in 
rising  wrath.  "  He  gave  you  the  gratuitous  benefit  of  his  ex- 
perience ;  never  mind  whether  it  is  treachery  on  his  part  or 
not — take  the  benefit.  If  you  don't,  you  lose  your  chance." 

"  It  is  better  I  should  lose  it  by  being  known  as  I  am, 
than  gain  it  by  being  thought  what  I  am  not,"  said  Honor, 
as  she  smoothed  the  pillows  for  the  restless  head  beside  her. 

"  Well,  I  don't  happen  to  think  so,"  grumbled  Mrs.  Payte, 
noisily  poking  the  fire  ;  "but  you  must  please  yourself,  I 
suppose.  What  dress  shall  you  wear?  Not  that  new  grey 
one  with  the  crimson  slashing  all  about  it  ?  ' 

"Yes,"  laughed  Honor.     "That  is  my  best  dress,  Mrs. 
^ayte  ;  and  do  you  know — if  I  must  own  such  a  humiliating 
fact — I  am  rather  proud  of  it  ?  " 
•    "  You  learnt  the  style  from  a  picture,  I  should  fancy." 

•:Yes,"  said  the  girl,  blushing  under  the  shrewd  glance 
the  old  lady  turned  so  suddenly  upon  her.  "  It  was  a 
picture  that  yr?u  and  I  saw — that  we  all  saw — at  Westleigh 


162  OLD  MYDDELTON'g  MONET. 

Towers  ;  but  it  is  quite  near  enough  to  the  fashion  not  to 
look  odd." 

"  Odd  !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Payte,  with  a  curious  little  grunt, 
I  think  you  look  particularly  odd  in  it  ;  aud,  as  for  fashion, 
just  cover  yourself  with  flounces  from  top  to  toe — no  matter 
where  you  put  them — and  you  are  sure  to  be  in  the  fashion. 
But  what  about  the  others  ?  It  is  more  in  their  natuie  to 
dress  smartly  than  yours.  Will  they  hide  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  you  will  have  a  double  disadvantage  by  compari- 
son with  them.  See  what  a  silly  baby  you  are,  rushing 
headlong  against  your  own  interests.  Never  mind  whether 
you  like  the  old  woman.  Why,  bless  me,  her  individuality 
is  sunk  ;  she  represents  more  than  a  million  of  money — 
think  of  it  !  By  the  way,  how  is  your  guardian  feeling  just 
now  towards  Mr.  Keith  ?  " 

The  sick  lady,  on  whose  hand  Honor's  lay,  felt  the  start  it 
gave,  and  wondered  a  little,  as  she  lay  calm  in  her  weakness. 

"He— he" 

"  I  know,"  put  in  Mrs.  Payte,  brusquely,  "  he  gave  me  a 
hint  of  it  one  day  unconsciously.  He  thinks  Eoyden  Keith 
is  a  man  not  to  be  trusted." 

"  He  thinks,"  said  Honor,  the  low,  startled  voice  giving 
words  at  last  to  the  horrible  conviction  of  Lawrence's  mean- 
ing which  had  stolen  by  degrees  upon  her,  "  that  Mr.  Keith 
has  at  some  time  committed  an  act  which — which  proves 
him  not  what  he  seems  to  be." 

"  When  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know." 

"  Well,  I  do,  then.  It  was  '  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Dick.' 
All  those  likely  things  occurred  in  her  reign,  anJ  when  you 
find  it  in  your  English  history,  we  will  discuss  its  events, 
but  not  till  then." 

"  I  cannot  think,"  exclaimed  Honor,  sadly,  "  why  Law- 
rence should  ever  dream  " 

"He  never  does,"  was  the  sharp  retort.  "Lawyers 
never  dream  ;  they  are  far  too  clever.  By  the  way,  Honor, 
tell  us — just  to  amuse  us — what  your  keen-witted  guardian 
says  of  us.  Begin  with  Selina." 

"  What  could  he  say  of  her,"  answered  Honor,  smiling, 
"  but  that  she  was  most  amiable  ?  " 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  183 

"  Bah  !  To  say  a  woman  is  amiable  is  to  deny  her  any 
character  at  all,  to  make  her  at  once  a  nonentity  in  mind, 
body,  and  estate.  Go  on.  What  does  he  say  of  me  ?  I 
have  heard  him  say  that  T  am  a  snappish  vixen,  and  a  selfish 
dabbler  in  other  people's  affairs." 

"  He  has  not  said  that  to  me,"  said  Honor,  gently. 

The  old  lady's  eyes  softened  a  little,  but  there  was  cer- 
tainly no  softening  in  her  next  speech. 

"  I  dare  say  he  is  saying  it  now  to  somebody.  At  any 
rate  I  heard  him  say  it  to  Theodora  Trent.  What  a  good 
thing  it  would  be  if  we  had  her  here  now,  to  nurse  Selina  ! 
She  would  be  a  nice  one  by  a  sick  bed,  eh  ?  I  should  like," 
continued  the  little  lady,  warming  her  feet  busily  by  turns 
opon  the  fender,  "  to  take  an  Asmodean  flight  now,  and  look 
down  through  one  or  two  roofs." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Honor,  in  amusement,  whilst  even  Mrs. 
Disbrowe,  having  caught  the  quick  words,  smiled  a  little. 

"  Now  then,  child/'  retorted  Mrs.  Payte,  without  answer- 
ing the  last  question,  "  what  are  you  poking  about  for  ?  It 
is  no  use  putting  things  ready  to  her  hand — either  books  or 
flowers  or  scent.  Bless  you,  Selina  never  raises  a  finger  to 
help  herself !  What  in  the  world  is  it  you  are  looking  as  if 
you  wanted  now,  Seiina  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  the  sick  lady,  in  her  low  soft  tones,  and 
with  no  appearance  of  resenting  the  harsh  questions  of  her 
companion. 

"  Nothing !"  echoed  Mrs.  Payte,  with  supreme  contempt. 
"  Mysterious  nothing !  How  shall  I  define  thy  shapeless, 
baseless,  placeless  emptiness  ?  Some  poet  or  professor  says 
that,  and  I'm  no  wiser  than  he,  and  cannot  give  you  what  t 
cannot  define,  and  what  has  no  shape  nor  base  nor  place. 
Where  are  you  going,  Honor  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  be  many  minutes,"  the  girl  said,  as  she 
iooked  round,  to  be  sure  that  the  invalid  could  miss  nothing. 
"  I  am  only  going  to  see  Marie." 

"  Don't  be  long.     Don't  waste  your  time  there." 

The  little  kitchen,  where  Marie  lay  on  the  poor  couci. 
before  the  fire,  was  clean  and  neat  in  its  bareness,  and  the 
French  girl's  pinched  face  lay  upon  a  snowy  pillow.  The 
pillow  was  a  present  from  Honor  herself,  but  the  whitenew 
and  purity  of  everything  were  Marie's  owo. 


154  OLD  MYDDELTOXS  MONET. 

"Hare  yon  had  any  dinner,  Marie?"  asked  Honor,  gentlj 
drawing  the  fine  lace-work  from  the  girl's  wasted  fingers. 

"  I  did  not  want  any  to-day,  Miss  Craven  ;  and  I  did  not 
care  to  leave  my  work." 

"  You  work  too  constantly, "said  Honor, as  she  laid  it  aside. 
"Tour  father  tells  me  you  are  at  it  at  five  o'clock  inthe  morn- 
ing, and  never  leave  off  until  bed-time.  It  is  too  much, 
Marie.  Now  chat  with  me,  while  I  get  you  a  cup  of  tea." 

Moving  brightly  about  the  little  kitchen,  Honor  prepared 
the  meal  with  a  deftness  which  put  a  happy  amusement  into 
the  sick  girl's  tired  eyes  ;  and — watching  her,  and  listening 
to  her,  and  talking  to  her,  as  Honor  led  her  on  to  do — she 
forgot  her  pain  and  weakness,  and  even  her  constant  labour 
and  poverty.  So  when  the  tea  was  ready  and  Honor  sat  at 
the  table  and  waited  on  her,  chatting  as  if  she  would  not  give 
time  to  think,  Marie  caught  herself  actually  laughing. 

"  Does  Mrs.  Payte's  servant  help  you  a  little  now  ?  "  in- 
quired Honor,  when  at  last  she  rose  to  take  her  leave. 

"Yes,  she  does  indeed,  Miss  Crave  a— a  little.  She  is 
growing  rather  kind  to  me;  but  Mrs.  Payte — is  she  not  odd  ? 
I  can  never  understand  her." 

"  No,  it  is  not  easy  indeed,"  smiled  Honor.  "  When  will 
your  father  be  home,  Marie  ?  " 

"  Oh!  he  is  away,  Miss  Honor.     Did  you  not  know  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  did  not." 

"  I  thought  you  would,  Miss  Craven  ;  because  he  was  sent 
for  by  Mr.  Keith  a  week  ago." 

-farie  made  a  pause  here,  without  knowing  it,  wondering 
at  ttie  softened  brightness  of  Honor's  eyes. 

"  A  week  ago,  Miss  Craven,  he  read  an  advertisement  for 
a  photographer's  assistant,  a  long  way  off — more  than  thirty 
miles — and  father  fancied  he  might  do,  because  he  under- 
Btands  his  work  so  well ;  so  he  managed  to  get  the  money 
for  his  railway  ticket,  and  he  went-  They — they  told  him, 
before  they  asked  him  a  single  question,  Miss  Honor,  that 
\e  was  too  old  ;  and  so  he  walked  home,  for  he  had  no  other 
ticket.  It  was  quite  the  middle  of  the  ni^ht  \  hen  he  came 
in  here,  so  jaded  and  white  I  hardly  knew  hiin,  and  his  boots 
all  worn  to  the  ground." 

"  Then  where  is  he  uow,  Marie  ?  "  asked  Honor,  her  eyes 
<?Im  with  pity. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  163 

"  Now,  Miss  Honor,"  the  girl  said,  in  a  "brighter  tone, 
he  is  at  West!  igh  Towers.  Mr.  Keith  seemed  to  have  hoard 
of  his  disappointment,  though  father  himself  did  not  know 
how,  and  the  very  next  day  he  sent  for  father  to  go  over 
there  with  his  camera,  as  he  wanted  several  photographs 
taken,  and  father  was  to  go  prepared  to  stay  for  a  time.  Oh  ! 
Miss  Honor,  he  was  just  like  a  boy  that  day,  and — and  yet 
was  ashamed  before  me  of  being  so  happy  because — poor 
father  ! — /  was  not  going.  As  if  it  was  not  more  to  me 
than  going  myself,  for  him  to  go  !  Miss  Honor,"  added  the 
girl  presently,  seeing  the  tears  slowly  gather  in  Honor's 
beautiful  eyes,  "father  sent  me  a  likeness  of  Mr.  Keith. 
Perhaps  he  ou»ht  not  to  have  done  it,  but  he  did  ;  he  knew 
I  should  not  show  it  about,  but  keep  it  sacredly,  and  value 
it,  so  he  seat  it.  Will  you  see  it,  Miss  Craven  ? " 

"  Nos  thank  you,  Marie,"  said  Honor,  quietly. 

"  Oh,  do  !  "  urged  Marie,  drawing  the  photograph  from 
between  the  leaves  of  a  book  which  lay  beside  her  on  the 
couch,  and  unfolding  it  from  its  silver  paper.  "  Do  look,  Miss 
Honor.  I  think  father  has  taken  it  beautifully." 

So  Honor  took  the  picture  in  her  hands,  but  it  was  many 
minutes  before  the  figure  grew  distinct  before  her  misty  eyes. 
The  photograph  had  evidently  included  Roy  den  without  his 
knowledge.  He  was  sitting  in  deep  thought,  his  eyes  fixed 
gravely  on  the  fire,  his  dogs  lying  about  the  rug  at  his  feet. 

To  one  who  did  not  know  him,  it  was  the  photograph  of 
a  very  handsome  man,  thoroughly  artistic  in  the  unconscious 
grace  of  attitude.  But  to  one  who  knew  him,  it  was  far 
more  than  that.  To  Honor,  the  face,  in  its  thought  and 
patience,  and  yet  in  its  power  and  strength,  for  that  minute 
seemed  to  be  really  with  her. 

"  Well,  Honor,  now  much  longer  are  you  going  to  stay 
here  ?  " 

She  gave  back  the  likeness  with  a  stifled  sigh,  yet  wa» 
glad  to  be  called  away  before  she  could  speak  of  it. 

"  I  am  coming,  Mrs.  Payte,  in  ( ne  minute." 

The  little  old  lady  was  pausing  at  the  kitchen  door,  evi- 
dently considering  that  to  tread  beyond  the  threshold  would 
contaminate  her,  and  holding  h  r  handkerchief  to  her  no.-o, 
as  if  the  air  of  the  clean  little  room  were  poisonous. 

"That  Inzy  gid  always  detains  you  when  you  come  here:" 


166  OLD   MYDDELTON'8   M0\rv. 

ehe  grumbled,  holding  her  shabby  brown  dress  about  her 
ankles,  lest  the  floor  should  sully  it.  "  She  never  exerts 
herself  for  anyone  ;  why  should  you  exert  yourself  for  her  ? " 

"  Mrs.  Payte,"  cried  Honor,  her  eyes  brilliant  with  sudden 
passion,  "you  are  unjust,  and  I  will  not  listen  to  such  worda 
of  Marie  in  her  helplessness  and  her  pain.  She  never  de- 
tains me.  I  stay  here  because  I  like  to  stay.  I  am  very 
glad  when  I  can  stay  with  her,  and  it  does  me  good,  because 
she  is  so  patient  and  so  gentle.  She  would  exert  herself 
for  everyone,  if  she  were  able,  and  be  far  more  useful  to  me, 
if  I  were  ill,  than  ever  1  have  been  to  her." 

The  little  old  lady  in  the  doorway  had  dropped  her  dress, 
and  was  breathing  the  plebeian  air  in  gasps.  She  had  seen 
a  flash  of  Honor's  anger  before,  but  never  passionately 
roused  as  now.  And  to  hear  her  class  herself  so  humbly 
with  that  poor  creature  !  How  beautiful  she  looked,  too, 
with  one  hand  lying  gently  on  the  head  of  the  sick  girl ! 

"  You  don't  look  at  all  likely  to  be  ill,"  chuckled  the  old 
lady,  "  so  how  can  we  judge  ?  Are  you  coming  now  ?  " 

"  I  will  follow  you,"  said  Honor. 

Left  again,  sbe  stooped  beside  the  couch  and  comforted 
Marie,  who  was  trembling  still  in  her  nervous  fear.  Then, 
when  she  had  brought  a  smile  at  last  to  the  pallid,  troubled 
face,  she  rose  to  go.  Mrs.  Payte  met  her  fiercely  in  the 
doorway  of  Mrs.  Disbrowe's  room. 

"  Do  you  recall  all  you  said  to  me  before  that  woman?" 

"  I  am  very  sorry  I  spoke  so  hastily,"  said  Honor  ;  "  but 

I  cannot  recall  a  single  word  I  said." 

"  Very  well,"  retorted  the  old  lady,  turning  swiftly  away, 
"  don't !  Are  you  going  home  now  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  you  wish  it.  I  have  an  hour's  liberty  still. 
Will  you  let  me  stay  ?  " 

"  Oh,  stay,  by  all  means,  or  I  shall  be  favoured  with 
Selina's  groans  all  the  evening.  What  does  the  doctor  say 
about  that  girl  downstairs  ?  Will  she  get  well  ? " 

"  I  fear  not,"  said  Honor,  pitifully.  "  He  says  she  noeds 
care  and  rest,  and  ease  and  nourishment ;  and  all  these 
things,  we  know,  are  beyond  her  reach." 

"  He  orders  her  port  wine,  I  suppose,  and  beef  and 
mutton — doctors  always  do  when  their  patients  are  pour, 

II  }  ou  can  stay,  child,  I'll  make  a  call  or  two." 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  167 

"  Honor,"  said  Mrs.  Disbrowe,  smiling,  when  the  restless 
little  old  lady  had  bustled  out  of  the  room,  "  hard  as  she  is 
herself,  she  takes  care  that  her  servant  shall  help  that  poor 
girl ;  and  now,  I  dare  say,  nourishing  things  will  be  sent 
in  to  her.  Edna  is  very  strange,  but  I  understand  her." 

Honor,  almost  unconsciously,  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief. 
The  one  great  pain,  to  her  generous  and  compassionate 
nature,  was  the  feeling  that  this  patient  invalid  had,  for  her 
only  companion,  one  who  was  so  hard  and  cross  and  dis- 
satisfied. To  know  that  this  thought  need  not  harass  her 
now,  was  a  relief  indeed ;  and  for  the  remainder  of  her 
itay  at  East  Cottage  she  was  as  bright  as  one  of  those  rare 
imnbeams  which  looked  in  now  and  then  at  the  calm,  sub- 
missive face  upon  the  pillows. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

But  t'other  young  maiden  looked  sly  at  me, 

And  from  her  seat  she  ris'n ; 
Let's  you  and  I  go  our  own  way 

And  we'll  let  she  go  shis'n. 

Berkshire  Ditty. 

"Mns.  PAYTE."  Mrs.  Trent's  eyes  turned  languidly  to 
her  drawing-room  door,  when  this  visitor  was  announced 
that  afternoon,  but  she  made  no  advance  to  meet  her. 

"  A  cold  day,"  she  remarked,  indifferently,  as  she  touched 
the  little  old  lady's  hand  with  her  soft  fingers. 

"  Cold,  is  it  ?  "  returned  Mrs.  Payte,  looking  inquisitively 
at  Theodora,  who  was  making  an  elaborate  process  of 
collecting  her  wools  before  she  rose.  "  I  did  not  notice.  I 
feel  hot  enough  myself,  for  I  have  been  put  out." 

Utter  silence.  Such  a  plain  hint  that  the  feelings  and 
temperature  of  Mrs.  Edna  Payte  were  matters  of  supreme 
indifference  to  the  ladies  at  Deergrove,  that  the  bold  little 
visitor  herself  for  a  moment  was  nonplussed — only  for  a 
moment,  though. 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  been  put  out,1'  she  resumed,  sitting — for 
her — unusually  still,  but  making  strenuous  use  of  her  eyes, 
"by  Honor  Craven." 

" Indeed !  " 

A  faint  and  languid  sign  of  interest  »t  last.. 


168  OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

"  She  is  at  my  house  now,  dancing  attendance,  forsooth, 
upon  my  sick  friend  ;  but  it  is  not  that  nonsense  which  \>n\ 
me  out.  It  is  her  ridiculous  determination  not  to  make 
eny  effort  to  be  agreeable  to  Lady  Lawrence  when  she 
arrives.  Bless  me,  why  should  one  of  the  family — however 
insignificant  a  one — retire,  and  leave  greater  chance  to  the 
there  ?  " 

"Why  indeed?" 

This  was  all  Theodora  could  say,  in  the  very  decided 
pause  which  the  rapid  little  speaker  made  ;  but  her  face 
was  growing  full  of  interest  now. 

"  Why,  indeed,  as  you  say,  Miss  Trent  ?  "  resumed  Mrs. 
Payte,  a  little  more  slowly  ;  "  although,  of  course,  for  your 
pake  I  could  almost  wish  that  Honor  would  persist  in  her 
absurdity,  even  so  far  as  declining  to  go  up  to  London  at  all 
to  meet  her  ladyship  ;  because,  if  that  were  the  case — I  saw 
that  it  struck  you  just  now — you  would  have  everything 
your  own  way.  Lady  Lawrence  would  hardly  hesitate  to 
choose  you  before  either  Miss  Haughton  or  Miss  Owen." 

"  I  think,"  put  in  Mrs.  Trent, "  that  my  daughter  has  little 
to  fear  from  the  rivalry  of  any  other  member  of  our  family." 

"  I  think  not — oh,  I  certainly  think  not,"  returned  Mrs. 
Payte,  with  prompt  decision.  "  But  then  what  can  we  tell 
of  the  eccentricities  of  old  Myddel ton's  sister  ?  At  any 
rate,  all  that  I  have  to  say  in  the  matter  I  have  said  now. 
I  determined  to  tell  you,  because  you  have  always  been 
BO  very  wishful  to  help  Honor — she  being  your  youngest 
relative,  and  an  orphan." 

A  pause  again,  so  definite  that  Mrs.  Trent  nervously 
rushed  in  to  break  it  with  a  clear  and  stiff  "  Oh,  certainly." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  small  old  lady,  with  a  quick  nod.  "  Well, 
then,  you  will  urge  upon  her  the  necessity  of  going  to 
London  among  the  earliest  of  you,  ar.d  doing  her  best  to 
make  herself  agreeable  to  her  great-aunt  (if  she  is  her  great- 
aunt,  but  I  really  don't  understand  anything  about  the 
connection),  that  the  chance  of  her  being  remembered  in  the 
will  may  be  as  good  as  yours.  I  have  done  all  J  can  do, 
and  I  leave  it  now  in  your  hanHs." 

"*Honor  is  not  at  all  likely  'o  forego  her  chance,"  said 
Theodora,  wishing  in  her  heart  that  this  bluut  and  suuiug 
little  visitor  would  leave. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S   MONET.  160 

"If  she  does,  I  shall  now  consider  ifc  entirely  her  own 
fault,"  observed  Mrs.  Payte,  almost  blandly.  Then,  to  the 
^reat  relief  of  both  mother  and  daughter,  she  rose  in  her 
imstling  manner,  and  prepared  to  take  her  leave. 

"  I  am  grieved  to  be  able  to  make  so  short  a  call,"  she 
said,  with  apparent  enjoyment  of  the  idea,  "  but  I  wish,  if 
possible,  to  pay  another  visit  before  it  is  dark,  and  in  these 
wretched  country  districts  one's  friends  always  live  so  far 
apart.  Good-bye.  Then  I  may  hope  to  hear  a  diflerent 
decision  from  Honor,  after  she  has  seen  you." 

*  *  *  *  *    '        #  * 

Miss  Han gh ton  had  just  donned  her  black  silk  dinner 
dress,  and  was  beginning  to  listen  for  the  sound  of  her 
brother's  return,  and  Phrebe  was  practising  a  fantasia  which 
was  to  astonish  him,  when  an  unexpected  visitor  was 
announced — "Mrs.  Payte."  The  old  lady  made  a  longer 
ceremony  of  her  call  here,  though  she  had  given  herself 
exactly  the  same  mission  to  perform. 

Jane  received  it  with  a  strong  disregard  to  its  import, 
and  Phoebe  (though  she  exclaimed  several  times,  "  Oh,  of 
course  Honor  must  come,"  and  "  Oh,  Lawrence  would  never 
go  without  Honor,"  and  "  Oh,  it  was  a  shame  to  think  of 
it ")  hardly  followed  the  idea  to  the  bottom,  and  thought  a 
great  deal  more  about  the  bow  in  her  hair,  and  listened  a 
great  deal  more  eagerly  for  the  wheels  of  the  waggonette. 

"  I  feel  sure,"  observed  Miss  Haughton,  reverting  to  the 
subject  when  the  visit  was  nearly  over,  and  the  visitor  had 
dropped  it,  "that  Lady  Lawrence  will  make  nothing  at  all 
of  her  female  connections.  She  will  be,  you  know,  one  of  the 
wealthiest — indeed  the  very  wealthiest  woman  in  England. 
She  will  most  naturally  select  an  heir." 

"  That  seems  the  general  opinion,"  observed  Mrs.  Payte, 
carelessly  ;  "  but  of  course  T  know  nothing  about  it.  Only 
I  should  say,  if  she  does  wish  to  select  an  heir,  she  will  be 
tempted  by  the  brilliant  talents  and  sterling  qualities  of 
Mr.  Haughton  ;  and  yet — and  yet,"  ruminated  the  old  lady, 
pensively,  "Captain  Trent  is  very  accomplished,  and  of 
elegant  bearing,  besides  having  the  useful  power — like  a 
cat — of  lighting  for  ever  on  his  feet.  He  too  seems  to  have 
a  pretty  fair  chance.  Well,  well,  it  is  of  no  use  our  worrying 
ourselves  about  it.  I  only  hope,  for  the  sake  of  justice,  that, 


170  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

when  the  day  comes  for  meeting  this  formidable  old  million, 
atre,  you  will  all  be  there.  Now  I  must  hurry  home,  or 
I  shall  be  benighted.  If  Mr.  Haughton  were  here,  I  would 
get  him  to  escort  me  ;  as  it  is,  I  must  go  alone."  And  she 
went,  briskly  and  cheerfully. 

"  She  chose  to  come  alone  in  the  dusk,"  Jane  said,  rigidly, 
when  Phoebe  ventured  to  ask  whether  it  would  not  have  been 
well  to  send  one  of  the  servants  with  the  old  lady  ;  "  so  I 
suppose  she  is  used  to  it." 

"  They  are  all  in  a  rare  state  of  excitement,"  muttered 
Mrs.  Payte  to  herself,  as  she  walked  homeward  in  unusual 
thoughtfulness,  and  with  an  unusually  slow  step  ;  "  and  it 
has  been  almost  as  good  to  me,  after  all,  as  an  Asmodean 
flight." 

"  Hallo,  there  ! " 

The  exclamation  came  from  Lawrence  Haughton,  as.  in 
the  gathering  darkness,  he  drove  up  close  upon  this  solitary 
and  heedless  pedestrian. 

"  Mr.  Haughton,  is  that  you  ?  " 

Lawrence  pulled  up  his  horse,  and  leaned  down  from  the 
waggonette,  which  he  generally  preferred  to  drive  himself. 

"  Mrs.  Payte,  I  did  not  know  you.  It  is  late  for  you  to 
be  walking  alone." 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "  Please  to  turn  and 
drive  me  home  ;  then  you  can  bring  Honor  back." 

"  Honor  !     Is  she  at  your  cottage  so  late  ?  " 

Lawrence  was,  beyond  a  doubt,  very  angry,  and  he  turned 
his  horse  without  a  word. 

The  servant  held  open  the  carriage  door,  and  Mrs.  Pavto 
was  driven  back  to  East  Cottage  in  grim  silence.  But  she 
did  not  seem  to  mind  it  much,  and  her  small,  shrewd  face 
wore  something  very  like  a  smile,  when  the  lights  of  the 
cottage  fell  upon  it  at  last. 

"By  the  powers  !  "  she  exclaimed — it  was  a  vague  oath, 
in  which  the  restless  little  woman  could  safely,  and  not 
against  her  conscience,  indulge — "  Honor  has  got  a  bright 
and  cheerful-looking  room  up  there  ;  and  I  declare,  she  is 
singing  to  Selina  f  That  is  one  thing  Honor  does  well.  Her 
voice  is  not  a  machine,  and  she  knows  the  difference  between 
singing  and  executing  a  song — I  call  it  exrcntinir  a  song, 
girls  behead  it  of  sense  and  feeling.  V\  ill  you  stay 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  17 1 

here,  Mr.  Haughton,"  she  continued,  leading  him  into  the 
Brelit  sitting-room,  "  while  I  fetch  Honor  ?  " 

Barely  two  minutes  had  Lawrence  sat  moodily  there,  when 
the  old  lady  returned  to  tell  him  that  she  could  not  persuad' 
Honor  to  leave  Mrs.  Disbrowe,  who  was  very  ill  and  restless, 
arid  was  soothed  by  Honor's  singing  and  reading,  and  even 
!)>•  her  quiet  presence — "  Mr.  Haughton  must  please  excuse 
her  to-night." 

"  I  cannot  excuse  her,"  said  Lawrence,  roughly  ;  "  she 
must  come  home." 

"  I  really  fear  she  will  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Payte  ;  and 
fortunately  the  firelight  did  not1  betray  her  mean  enjoyment 
of  his  wrath.  "She  is,  as  Mrs.  Malaprop  would  say,  *  as 
headstrong  as  an  allegory  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile.'  Shall 
I  appeal  to  her  once  more,  or  had  I  not  better  take  your 
consent  for  her  to  stay  with  my  sick  friend  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  right  for  her  to  stay  away  from  home,"  fumed 
Lawrence,  in  his  selfish  anger  ;  "  please  tell  her  I  insist  on 
her  coming." 

"  I  decline  to  tell  her  that,"  rejoined  the  old  lady,  with 
sudden,  quiet  gravity,  "  and  now  I  decline  to  urge  even  your 
request.  I  hoped  you  would  yourself  think  better  of  it,  and 
now,  merely  as  a  polite  formality,  Mr.  Haughton,  I  beg  yon 
t o  leave  your  ward  here.  She  is  very  nobly  and  very  tenderly 
fulfilling  a  duty  which  has  fallen  in  her  way.  Her  presence 
here  is  beyond  measure  pleasant  and  beneficial  to  a  dying 
woman,  and  still  she  is  most  unwilling  to  disobey  her  guardian, 
or  even  to  disregard 'his  wish.  This  being  the  case,  I  will 
not  vex  her  again  with  the  choice,  but  will  myself  arrange 
with  you  for  her  to  stay  here  a  little  time." 

It  was  a  perfectly  insignificant  person  who  thus  accosted 
Lawrence  Haughton;  a  person  meanly  clad  and  dingily  sur- 
rounded, yet  there  was  something  in  the  words,  or  the  tone, 
or  the  bearing  of  the  speaker,  which  kept  his  angry  answer 
back,  and  brought  to  his  own  reply  a  chilly  but  very  evident 
effort  at  politeness. 

"  I  will  dfive  here  myself  for  Miss  Craven  in  the  early 
morning,  before  I  leave  for  my  office,"  he  said  ;  "  you  will 
not  allow  her  again  to  set  aside  my  order,  I  hope." 

"  I  \\ill  leave  it  to  her,"  Mrs.  Payte  said,  calmly,  as  she 
took  him  to  the  door.  "I  wonder,"  she  added,  to  herself* 


172  OLD  MYDDELTON'S   MONET. 

as  she  remounted  the  cottage  stairs,  whether  I  shall  findhei 
anxious  about  what  he  said  ?  " 

Anxious  about  him  !  The  old  lady  entertained  no  further 
doubt  upon  this  subject  when  she  saw  Honor  beside  tha* 
quiet  sick-bed,  brightening  so  inexpressibly  those  calm,  last 
hours. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

By  their  advice,  and  her  own  wicked  wit, 
She  there  devised  a  wondrous  work  to  frame. 

SPENSEE. 

AFTER  Mrs.  Payte  had  left  Deergrove  that  afternoon,  Mrs. 
Trent  and  her  daughter  sat  for  some  time  in  silence,  continu- 
ing their  work  just  as  if  no  interruption  had  occurred  ;  but 
presently  Theodora  broke  the  treacherous  pause,  and  put  into 
words  the  thought  which  had  been  busy  in  the  brains  of  both. 

"  What  a  difference  it  will  make  if  Honor  does  not  come  !  " 
No  explanation  was  needed  of  the  where  or  when,  as  Theo- 
dora knew.  "  I  never  did  fear  anyone  but  Honor,"  she 
continued,  presently. 

"  You  never  had  any  occasion,  my  dear,  even  to  fear  her,'1 
«marked  Mrs.  Trent,  not  quite  liking  to  take  up  yet  the 
thread  that  lay  to  her  hand. 

"  Of  course,  mamma,  you  will  not  try  to  persuade  Honor 
to  go  against  her  will  ? '' 

"  I  never  persuade  anyone  to  do  anything  against  their 
will,  Theo,  my  dear,  as  you  know,"  observed  Mrs.  Trent, 
serenely. 

"  And  suppose  we  go  a  few  days  earlier  than  the  others — 
you  yourself  proposed  it  once." 

"  Did  I  ?  "  questioned  the  lady  of  the  house,  meditatively. 
"  I  dare  say  Hervey  thought  it  well  too.  And  if  Honor 
does  not  arrive  until  you  have  won  Lady  Lawrence's  regard 
to  yourself,  my  dear,  why,  we  cannot  help  it.'' 

"  It  will  be  Honor's  fault,  for  being  late,"  returned  Theo- 
dora, suppressing  a  smile.  "  What  shall  we  say  if  Lady 
Lawrence  questions  us  about  her,  mamma  ?  We  must  be 
agreed.'" 

"  We  can  only  give  the  experience  we  have  had  of  her," 


OLD  AIYDDELTON'S  MONET.  173 

replied  Mrs.  Trent,  carefully  folding  the  couvrelfo  she  was 
knitting.  "  I  could  wish  we  had  a  better  account  to  give  of 
the  poor  child.  Bnt  I  suppose  she  never  will  improve  now. 
The  association  with  those  vulgar  people  at  East  Cottage 
has  quite  destroyed  what  benefit,  she  had  gained  by  bringing 
her  into  our  own  society.  Even  Hervey's  patience  must  be 
quite  worn  out.  By  the  way,  my  love,  you  had  better  talk 
this  over  with  Hervey  ;  he,  too,  I  dare  say,  will  be  glad  to  be 
in  London  before  the  Haughtons.  Have  you  quite  decided 
about  your  dress,  and  do  you  feel  sure  you  have  chosen  what 
Lady  Lawrence  will  like,  as  far  as  you  can  judge  from  Mr. 
Stafford's  account  of  her  whims  and  fancies  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Theodora,  rising  at  the  sound  of  the  dressing- 
bell.  "  My  dress  will  be  quiet  enough  to  suit  her,  I  know. 
How  funny  I  shall  feel  in  it,  though  !  " 

"  Never  mind  ;  it  will  only  be  for  a  little  time,"  said  Mrs, 
Trent  in  a  consolatory  tone.  "  Lady  Lawrence  is  to  make 
her  will  at  once,  you  know  ;  and  then  it  will  be  all  right. 
You  see,  whether  Hervey  or  you  inherit,  it  will  be  the  same 
thing.  Oh  yes,  my  love,  we  will  certainly  be  in  London 
first ;  for  Lady  Lawrence  will  see  it  as  a  delicate  attention 
on  our  part.  Mind  you  speak  to  Hervey  to-night." 

"  Yes,"  thought  Theodora>  gliding  up  the  stairs,  with  a 
gmile  upon  her  lips,  "  but  I  shall  put  it  a  little  differently 
to  Hervey,  for  he  never  is  keenlv  alive  to  Honor's  slyness 
until  I  have  talked  to  him  a  little." 

So,  knowing  this.  Theodora  talked  to  him  a  good  deal,  and 
had  the  satisfaction  at  last  of  seeing  that  Captain  Trent  grew 
thoroughly  imbued  with  the  consciousness  of  a  real  wisdom 
having  directed  all  her  arrangements.  He  languidly  congra- 
tulated her  upon  them,  and  expressed  his  appreciation  of  the 
pdvantageous  position  to  which  her  diplomacy  pointed  him. 

Mr.  Stafford  had,  in  one  of  his  visits  to  Dec-rgrove,  un- 
guardedly betrayed  the  fact  that  Lady  Lawrence  would  be  in 
London  a  few  days  before  that  first  of  December  appointed 
for  the  meeting  with  her  young  relatives.  Therefore,  why 
should  not  the  family  at  Deergrove  employ  that  private 
information  for  their  own  immediate  benefit?  Lady  Law- 
!>-nce  would  of  course  be  pleased  with  the  attention,  and 
v.mld  le  glad  perhaps  to  hear  a  little  about  the  rest  of  tha 
t/.iuily  before  she  saw  them. 


174  OLD  MYDDELTON'B  MONET. 

"  I  see,"  observed  Captain  Hervey,  sauntering  figuratively 
out  of  the  tedious  conference.  "  The  worst  of  it  is,  nothing 
can  be  done  without  one's  being  so  bored  over  it.  Still,  of 
course,  the  possible  result  is  worth  fatipue.  No  felloe 
would  object  to  a  little  trouble  to  ensure  the  success  which 
you  expect." 

"  And  which  you  expect,  Hervey." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  I  expect  it  in  any  case.  The  old  woman 
wants  an  heir,  and  you  don't  suppose  she'd  choose  Haugh- 
ton.  No,  I  expect  it  in  any  case ;  but  of  course,  Theo,  I  am 
at  your  service  in  all  plans  that  will  make  assurance  doubly 
sure  ;  only,  for  pity's  sake,  let  us  have  no  fuss,  and,  above 
all,  give  that  snob  Haughton  no  excuse  for  blowing  up." 

"  Do  you  ever  see  me  in  a  fuss?"  smiled  Theodora.  "And 
Mr.  Haughton's  tempers,  dear  Hervey,  can  never  lower  us." 

"  Except  1n  our  spirits,"  drawled  Captain  Hervey.  "Now 
this  is  all  arranged,  I  hope,  and  dinner  ready.  As  for 
Honor,  I  don't  believe  a  word  about  her  staying  here  over 
the  first  of  December  ;  she  has  far  too  much  good  sense." 

"  If  she  does  stay,"  remarked  Miss  Trent,  "  it  will  be 
entirely  by  her  own  choice.  Of  course  she  can  go  with  the 
others  "if  she  chooses  ;  indeed,  I  feel  anything  but  confident 
that  she  will  not.  Although,"  added  Miss  Trent  to  herself, 
as  she  slowly  followed  her  mother  and  cousin  to  the  dining- 
room  (Captain  Hervey  Trent  objected  to  a  position  between 
two  ladies,  and  never  was  known  to  put  himself  into  any 
position  in  which  he  objected),  "  if  she  does  not,  I  think 
I  can  promise  that  her  coming  afterwards  will  be  of  verj 
little  avail." 

It  was  at  this  same  time  that  Mr.  Haughton,  with  his 
sister  and  his  ward,  sat  down  to  a  silent  dinner  at  The 
Larches.  Lawrence  had  not  recovered  the  mortification  he 
had  met  with  at  East  Cottage,  both  in  Honor's  rebellion 
and  in  Mrs.  Payte's  unexpected  tirade,  and  he  was,  if  possi- 
ble, more  taciturn  than  usual.  Phoabe,  laying  it  all  to 
Honor's  absence,  shed  a  few  silent  tears  over  Honor's  de- 
linquencies, and  made  a  great  many  excited,  but  abortive 
attempts  at  sprightly  conversation.  Jane — laying  it,  as  she 
laid  all  her  brother's  ill-humours,  on  the  weight  and  -extent 
of  the  business  he  had  transacted  during  the  day — took  her 
CWQ  usual  method  (even  more  abortive,  than  Phoebe's)  fur 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MOXET.  17.r) 

restoring  his  equanimity,  and  urged  him  to  take  nourish- 
ment and  rest.  From  these  united  efforts  he  escaped, 
almost  before  dinner  was  over,  to  his  own  private  room, 
where  he  generally  drank  his  after-dinner  port  in  the  societ-1 
of  his  law-books  and  papers.  But  to-night  he  took  no  book 
from  the  shelves,  and  no  paper  from  his  private  drawers. 
He  hardly  glanced  at  the  Gazette,  though  he  opened  and  cut 
it.  He  laid  it  down  upon  his  knee  without  having  read  a 
word,  then  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  sipped  his  wine 
more  frequently  than  usual. 

His  chafed  and  angry  thoughts  were  at  East  Cottage  still 
— a  humiliating  confession,  which  he  would  himself  have 
been  slow  to  make — and  it  seemed  strange  that  presently 
they  should  rush  suddenly  from  there  to  the  hotel  in  Kin- 
bury,  where  he  had  had  that  one  interview  with  Royden 
Keith  two  weeks  before.  Nor  was  the  reason  of  their  leap 
quite  explained  even  when,  at  Phoebe's  summons  to  tea — 
urged  coaxingly  through  the  closed  door — he  rose  and 
threw  aside  his  paper,  with  a  few  muttered  words. 

"Honor  was  bewitched  about  him,  I  think,  and  that  was 
half  the  old  woman's  doing  ;  though  it's  hard  to  see  any 
motive  she  could  have  had  in  that.  She  shall  repent  it, 
though  ;  for  Honor  shall  not  go  near  her  after  to-morrow. 
As  for  him,  Honor  never  has  seen  any  fault  in  him,  but 
she  shall  see  a  vile  one. now.  I  said  I  would  wait  until  Lady 
Lawrence's  will  was  written,  and  this  fuss  over  ;  but  now  I 
think  better  of  that  decision.  I  will  show  Honor  that  burnt 
letter.  What  will  she  think  of  him  afterwards  ?  " 

Phosbe,  waiting  paitently  in  the  hall,  sprang  forward 
joyously  to  meet  Lawrence,  because  she  saw  that  he  came 
from  his  room  with  an  expression  of  pleasant  anticipation 
on  his  face. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Come  sit  down,  every  mother's  son,  and  rehearse  your  parts. 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 

IT  was  the  evening  of  the  twenty-ninth  of  November,  and 
Mr.  Hau?hton  was  leaving  his  last  instructions  with  hit 
head  clerk.  Mr.  Slimp  received  the  orders  as  usual,  and 


17^  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

pretended  not  to  be  keenly  aware  that  this  was  an  extra, 
ordinary  occasion.  But  the  young  clerks  below  wer« 
making  very  merry  over  the  event,  and  greatly  enjoyed  their 
own  keen  and  insatiable  curiosity. 

Lawrence  Haughton's  reserve  had  been  of  little  service 
to  him  this  time.  There  was  hardly  any  one  in  Kin  bury 
who  did  not  know  that  old  Myddelton's  family  were  to  meet 
in  London  on  the  first  of  December,  for  old  Myddelton's 
sister  to  make  their  acquaintance  and  her  own  will  ;  and 
the  junior  clerks  in  the  lawyer's  office  were  not  the  only 
men  who  had  betted,  in  a  small  way,  on  the  result. 

"  In  other  respects,  we  are  booked  if  Haughton  returns 
a  millionaire,"  said  one,  willingly  laying  down  his  pen,  after 
two  minutes'  application. 

"  Can  Slimp  buy  the  practice,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"If  he  bought  it  twenty  times  over,  he  wouldn't  buy  my 
Bervices  ;  nor  yours,  if  you're  the  man  I  take  you  for." 

Number  Two  evidently  was  the  man  for  whom  Number 
One  took  him,  for  he  laughed  so  heartily  at  the  notion  of 
Bickerton  Slimp  as  a  master,  that  the  conviviality  conse- 
quent on  the  notion  even  reached  the  ears — unintelligibly 
— of  Bickertou  Slimp  himself. 

"  Good  evening  to  you  both,"  said  Lawrence,  entering  the 
lower  office. 

"  You  leave  to-morrow  then,  sir  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

44  And  have  no  idea,  I  presume,  when  you  will  return  ?  ** 

"No  idea." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  was  the  verdict,  as  Mr 
Haughton's  waggonette  rolled  from  the  office  door,  "  he's  in 
a  rage  at  the  whole  thing  being  so  well  known.  He'd  give 
anything  if  he  could  escape  going  to  dance  attendance  on 
the  old  lady,  though  he'd  not  forego  his  chance — not  he — 
for  any  consideration  whatever.  But,  as  he  has  to  go,  he'd 
give  the  world  if  he  could  go  quietly  up  and  manage  the 
will  himself,  with  no  prying  eyes  upon  him." 

This  being,  in  effect,  a  not  untrue  epitome  of  Mr.  Haugh. 
tun's  feelings,  it  can  be  readily  imagined  that  when  he 
entered  The  Larches,  and  Phoebe  met  him  with  an  excited 
reminder  of  the  morrow's  journey,  his  face  lost  none  of  iia 
normal  gloom  or  rigidity. 


OLD  MYDDEI/rolTS  MONEY.  177 

""We  are  all  ready,  Lawrence,"  the  girl  cried  ;  "  Jane  an'l 
1  have  packed  everything.  Oh,  isn't  it  a  good  thing  that  we 
we  going  at  last  ?  I  used  to  think  the  day  would  never  come." 

"It  has  not  come  now,"  said  Lawrence,  carelessly.  "  Whose 
boxes  are  these  ?  " 

"  Mine  and  Jane's." 

"You  are  in  time  with  your  packing,  at  all  events," 
observed  Mr.  Haughton,  with  dry  sarcasm.  "  Where  are 
Honor's  ?  " 

"  They  are  not — oh,  Lawrence,"  the  girl  broke  off,  seeing 
how  his  anger  rose  when  the  doubt,  which  had  always 
angered  him,  grew  into  a  certainty,  "she  will  not  come. 
She  keeps  to  it,  just  as  she  told  you,  each  time  you  scolded 
her.  She  is  quite  firm,  and  really  means  not  to  go." 

"  Where  is  she  ?" 

"  Upstairs ;  you  ordered  her  to  be  at  home  for  dinner, 
you  know." 

•'  Go  and  ask  her  to  come  to  me  at  once  in  my  own  room." 

Phoebe  ran  upstairs  eagerly.  Her  guardian  had  given 
her  a  commission,  and  that,  for  the  moment,  was  happiness 
enough  for  Phoebe.  Of  course  she  was  sorry  that  Honor 
shculd  be  scolded,  but  then  really  Honor  was  behaving 
very  oddly,  and  it  was  no  wonder  at  all  that  Lawrence  should 
De  enraged. 

u  Oh,  Honor" — meeting  her  cousin  on  the  stairs,  Phcebe 
plunged  into  the  very  middle  of  the  message — "  I  know  he's 
angry,  and  I  know  we  shall  be  miserable,  and  all  because 
of  you.  You  ought  to  alter  yoftr  mind,  Honor  ;  you  know 
you  ought.  You  are  to  go  to  Lawrence  now  in  his  study. 
He  is  so  angry.  You  know  he  said  long  ago  that  he  would 
not  go  without  you.  It  is  very  selfish  of  you,  Honor,  and 
you  used  not  to  be  selfish." 

"Lawrence  never  said  he  would  not  go,  meaning  it," 
returned  Honor,  pausing  on  the  stairs.  "  My  going  will  do 
no  one  any  good,  unless  it  be  myself ;  my  staying  here  may, 
and  BO  I  stay." 

"  I  dare  say  it  is  of  no  use  our  going  at  all  now,"  whinod 
Phoebe.  "  The  Trents  have  been  there  two  days,  and — and  I 
think  it  is  no  wonder  Lawrence  is  cross.  Make  haste  m, 
Honor,  and  do  say  you'll  go.  I'll  help  you  to  pack." 

"  Oh,  I  can  pack  in  a  few  minutes,"  smiled  the  younga 


178  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

pirl,  looking  back  as  she  went  on  downstairs.  "  When  I  hare 
done  all  I  can  do  here,  I  can  follow  you  at  half  an  hour's 
notice.  I  have  no  preparations  to  make." 

"  Don't  stop,"  cried  Phoebe,  eagerly  ;  "  make  haste  to 
Lawrence." 

It  was  but  a  short  interview  between  Honor  and  her 
guardian.  She  was  firm  in  her  resolve,  though  perfectly 
gentle  in  urging  it ;  and  Mr.  Haugh ton's  anger  and  Mr. 
Haughton's  advice  were  equally  unavailing. 

"  I  feel,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  great  thoughtfulness  upon 
her  face,  "  as  if  my  duty  lay  here  ;  so  don't  try  to  persuade 
r:e,  please,  Lawrence." 

He  did  try  though,  again  and  again,  but  to  no  purpose  ; 
and  when  Jane  and  Phoebe  had  become  fidgety,  and  the 
dinner  was  growing  cold,  he  came  in  and  took  his  seat  in 
such  evident  ill-humour  that  no  one  ventured  anything 
beyond  a  casual  and  polite  remark.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, the  meal  was  a  lugubrious  one,  and  even  Phoebe 
longed  for  it  to  be  over. 

"  Then  you  are  not  going  to  your  own  room  this  evening, 
Lawrence  ? " 

He  had  entered  the  drawing-room  behind  them,  and  his 
sister  turned  to  him  in  surprise. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  curtly,  as  he  took  the  large  arm-chatr 
always  reserved  for  him. 

Miss  Haughton  rang  for  wine,  which  had  as  usual  been 
placed  in  her  brother's  room,  and  prepared  her  work  with  a 
little  greater  zest.  But,  for  all  her  anticipations,  it  was  not 
the  lawyer's  presence  which  brightened  the  evening,  and 
Miss  Haughton  would  never  have  been  tempted  to  own 
whose  did.  It  wus  as  impossible  for  Honor  not  to  brighten 
those  among  whom  she  might  be,  as  it  would  he  impossible 
for  the  June  sunshine  to  lie  upon  the  grass  and  leave  it  chill 
and  cold. 

Far  from  avoiding  Lawrence,  she — ignoring  all  memory 
of  that  scene  in  his  room — won  him,  in  her  own  sweet 
daring  way,  to  pleasant,  idle  fireside  chat,  and  then  even  to 
laughter.  Crowning  triumph,  she  tempted  them  all  to  a 
game  of  whist,  conducted,  it  is  true,  upon  most  unorthodox 
principles,  but  serving  its  purpose  perhaps  all  the  better  for 
thut.  Lawrence  smiled  upon  Honor's  bright  little  constant 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  V79 

jests,  and  Jane  thawed  in  the  laughter ;  she  even  forgot 
herself  once,  and  showed  her  hand  across  to  Honor,  laugh- 
ing  over  it  herself  afterwards,  and  bearing  with  great  philo- 
sophy the  defeat  of  her  own  side. 

Altogether  the  game,  though  as  whist  an  ignominious 
failure,  was,  as  an  impromptu  amusement,  a  thorough 
success  ;  and,  when  tea  came  in,  the  meal  was  no  repetition 
of  the  gloomy  dinner. 

Next  day  Mr.  Haughton  ptarted  with  his  sister  and  ward  ; 
and  Honor,  standing  on  the  station  platform  to  watch  the 
train  out  of  sight,  felt  her  eyes  grow  dim.  They  had  done 
little  to  make  the  girl's  home  a  happy  one,  or  her  life 
content  ;  but  still  they  had  made  all  the  home  she  had  ever 
known  ;  and  there  was  a  vague,  sad  feeling  upon  her  that 
this  first  separation  was  the  breaking  up  of  the  old  life. 

The  fancy  haunted  her  as  she  walked  on  to  East  Cottage  ; 
and,  to  dispel  it,  she  recalled  Phoebe's  excited  face  and 
manner,  and  the  great  expectations  of  the  whole  party  ; 
mentally  wandering  on  then  to  the  party  from  Deergrove, 
who,  in  still  greater  excitement  and  anticipations,  had  lelt 
London  two  days  before. 

"  It  is  strange,'1  she  mused  to  herself,  with  an  uncon- 
scious sigh,  "  to  think  of  the  great  power  this  money  has — 
and  yet  how  little  it  could  do  for  some  !  Think  of  Mane 
Verrien  in  her  constant  pain,  lying  awake  night  after  night, 
coughing  and  suffering  !  How  trifling  wealth  must  seem  to 
her,  compared  with  ease  and  relief!  And  then  Mrs. 
Disbrowe,  lying  on  the  border-land  in  patient  waiting. 
Looking  back  upon  her  life,  could  she  long  for  any  power 
wealth  would  give  ?  And,  looking  on,  could  she  see  its 
power  there?" 

"  Bless  me,  child,"  exclaimed  little  Mrs.  Payte,  as  she  met 
her  at  the  cottage  door,  and  apparently  noticed  nothing  of  the 
gill's  thoughtful  sadness,  '"you  haven't  really  come,  have 
Jou  ?  Well,  I  must  say  I  did  not  expect  you." 

"  I  said  I  should  come,"  was  Honor's  simple  answer. 

"  "Women  may  always  change  their  minds,  and  I  felt  sure 
you  would  change  yours.  Are  all  the  others  gone  to  town  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Lady  Lawrence  has  probably  arrived.  If  not,  she 
ia  to  be  there  to-day." 

"  I  know.  Do  YOU  at  all  realise  how  foolish  you  ha?e  been  ?" 


180  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

"No,  Mrs.  Pajte,"  said  Honor,  gently.  "  I  havp thought 
it  well  over — I  did  indeed  from  the  first — and  I  ieel  that  I 
have  done  the  only  thing  which  I  could  feel  happy  in  doing." 

"  Now,''  retorted  the  little  old  lady,  fiercely,  "  you  may 
just  as  well  not  go  at  all.  Your  going  will  only  be  a 
mortification.  I  wish  you  had  not  been  so  silly.  Lady 
Lawrence  has  a  claim  upon  you,  child." 

'*  Hardly,"  remarked  Honor,  smiling. 

"  While  Selina,"  continued  the  little  lady,  without  con- 
descending  to  notice  the  interruption,  "  what  claim  has  she  ?  " 

"The  first  claim  now,"  was  Honor's  quiet  answer. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Bootless  speed ! 
When  cowardice  pursues  and  valour  flies. 

Midsummer  Night  s  Dream. 

HIGH  and  dark  against  the  wintry  sky  rose  the  massive 
stone  front  of  Westleigh  Towers,  sombre,  silent,  and 
majestic  on  its  height  ;  while  the  huge  rock  out  at  sea,  by 
force  ol  contrast,  assumed  almost  pygmean  proportions. 
Yet  a  mighty  rock  it  was  too,  rising  two  hundred  feet  above 
the  waves  that  fretted  at  its  base  ;  a  wonderful  rock,  haunted, 
in  its  inaccessible  recesses,  by  birds  in  thousands — puffin;?, 
cormorants,  gulls,  and  curlews, — but  never  touched  by  human 
footsteps. 

It  had  been  a  stormy  day,  and,  though  the  storm 
had  lulled  itself  at  last,  the  shoreward  waves  came  panting 
in  with  foaming  crests,  and  chafed  the  sand  and  shingle 
with  a  peevish  restlessness.  The  waters  covered  to-night 
that  treacherous  bay  below  the  cliffs,  heaving  darkly  in  their 
sheltered  stflraghold,  and  swaying  to  and  fro  with  a  dull 
and  muffled  sound.  The  moon  was  nearly  at  its  full,  but 
over  its  bright  disc  the  dusky  clouds  passed  rapidly,  obscur- 
ing totally  its  light,  save  in  the  intervals  between  its  flight. 
The  fishermen  were  glad  to  leave  their  boats  upon  the  shore 
to-night,  and  sit  and  smoke  beside  their  cottage  heartbr ; 
and  the  servants  at  The  Towers  gathered  ".^out  their  several 
fires,  and  laughed  and  chatted,  and  forgot  the  cold  and 
without — a  crowd  of  *«e»-v«uiui,  comely  and 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONSY.  Igl 

organized,  but  rather  a  superfluous  number,  it  would  seem, 
to  those  who  knew  how  little  was  exacted  from  them  by  the 
solitary  master  whom  they  were  hired  to  serve. 

In  one  small  room  in  the  west  wing  of  The  Towers — warm 
and  bright  to-night  with  fire  and  lamplight — the  little 
French  photographer  was  busily  mounting  his  photographs  ; 
moving  now  and  then  to  the  window  that  he  might  look 
out  upon  the  night-scene  when  the  moon  should  ride 
unclouded,  and  revelling  with  all  his  artistic  nature  in  its 
"weird  and  stormy  beauty  ;  then  walking  back  to  his  work 
with  a  softened  step  and  a  look  of  grateful  wonder  in  his 
tyes  as  he  glanced  round  the  bright  and  comfortable  room. 

"  How  beautiful  it  all  is,"  he  said,  with  a  clasp  of  his 
hands  which  proclaimed  his  nationality  at  once  ;  "  wild  and 
magnificent  without,  easy  and  luxurious  within  !  Oh,  Marie, 
my  cherished,  you  little  guess  what  a  life  your  father  leads 
just  now  ;  and  Monsieur  has  not  said,  even  yet,  that  it  is 
finished,  this  life  of  abundance  and  of  pleasure  for  me.  Oh, 
he  is  good  and  generous  !  But,"  concluded  the  little  F;  -~ich- 
man,  with  a  sudden,  prompt  resumption  of  his  task,  "  this 
is  idle  ingratitude,  this  dreaming  of  mine.  I  have  one  more 
gtill  to  mount,  and  then  I  shall  be  at  liberty  for  my  nightly 
letter  to  Marie.  Ah,  I  forgot  that  negative  I  spoiled  this 
morning.  I  must  see  to  that  first." 

Verrien  took  the  glass  up  cautiously,  and  held  it  against 
the  light. 

"  Ah,''  he  exclaimed,  after  a  long,  close  gaze,  "  now  I  see 
how  it  has  happened." 

It  was  a  photograph  of  one  portion  of  the  great  entrance- 
hall  at  the  Toweris,  and  at  a  glance  it  was  evident  that  the 
negative  was  a  defective  one.  True,  the  carving  and  the 
frescoes  were  developed  with  almost  as  much  artistic  beauty 
as  is  possible  in  a  photograph.  Every  leaf  and  fruit  and 
flower  in  the  fretwork,  and  every  broad  design  in  the  mosaic 
pavement,  were  clearly  and  tellingly  defined  ;  yet  there  could 
be  no  doubt  about  the  picture  being  a  failure,  and  the  littlo 
Frenchman's  eager  eyes  had  found  the  cause  now.  During 
the  seconds  of  exposure — the  real  and  technical  time  of 
taking — a  door  in  that  part  of  the  hall  had  been  opened 
suddenly.  The  whole  thing  was  easily  explained  on 
examining  the  negative  ;  yet  it  was  long  'before  Monsieur 


132  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MOITET. 

Verrien's  eyes  were  lifted  ;  and,  when  they  were,  there  waa 
a  still  deeper  puzzle  in  them. 

"  I — I — did  not  know,"  he  murmured,  to  himself,  drawing 
his  handkerchief  tenderly  over  the  surface  of  the  glass,  "  that 
there  was  a  lady  here.  I  do  not  know  why  I  should  have 
taken  it  so  entirely  for  granted  that  there  should  not  be  a 
lady  here  ;  it  was  absurd  of  me,  to  be  sure.  There — ther« 
naturally  would  be  a  lady  here — naturally — naturally." 

Monsieur  Verrien  repeated  the  word  again  and  again  with 
growing  emphasis,  and  yet  he  did  not  put  aside  the  negative, 
nor  raise  his  eyes  from  that  defective  part. 

"  It  was  a  lady's  form — there  is  no  mistake  about  that," 
he  mused,  softly  and  slowly  ;  "  a  lady's,  and  a  young  lady's, 
I  wonder — I  wonder  why  I  have  never  heard  her  spoken  ot 
here." 

Another  silent  gaze,  and  then  the  Frenchman  made  a 
rapid,  characteristic  gesture  of  self-disgust. 

"  Is  this  my  affair  ?  "  he  muttered,  in  his  broken  English. 
"  Would  these  domestics  of  their  own  will  talk  to  me  of  the 
ladies  of  their  master's  house — me  whom  they  treat  so  well, 
and  who  speaks  so  little  to  them — and  need  Monsieur  him- 
self  inform  me  ?  Pah  !  it  is  absurd  ! " 

As  if  to  calm  himself  after  this  little  ebullition  of  self- 
reproach,  he  put  down  the  damaged  negative,  and  began  to 
turn  over  and  admire,  for  the  hundredth  time,  the  mounted 
photographs  with  which  he  had  undoubtedly  been  successful. 

"  Ah,  this  is  the  one,  this  is  my  pride  ! "  he  cried,  taking 
one  up  with  an  extra  tenderness  in  his  hard  little  stained 
hands.  "  This  no  one  could  have  taken  better — no  one.  I 
chose  this  aspect  of  the  house,  and  I  chose  this  attitude  for 
Monsieur.  How  well  he  looks  !  He  always  dots  look  well ; 
but  still  I  like  this  one  beyond  the  others.  How  proud  and 
eolitury  the  figure  looks,  and  yet  how  beautiful  and  natural 
there  on  his  own  threshold  !  Solitary  !  His  life,  for  all  its 
generous  goodness,  does  seem  solitary  ;  and  yet  if" 

The  sentence  was  not  finished,  but  the  Frenchmau'ssideway 
glance  at  that  dimly-developed  figure  in  the  spoiled  negative 
betrayed  the  purport  of  what  he  had  intended  to  say. 

"  I  will  put  it  away,"  he  said,  presently;  "  it  distracts  me.* 

He  was  glad  one  moment  afterwards  that  he  had  done  so ; 
for  scarcely  had  K  laid  it  out  of  sight  when  the  room  door 


OLD  MTDDELT3N'S  MONET.  183 

was  opened  and  Mr.  Keith  eT.-ered.  He  came  up  to  the 
table  at  which  the  little  Frenoman  was  at  work,  and,  half 
sitting,  half  leaning  there,  watched  him,  chatting  now  and 
then  in  an  idle,  pleasant  way. 

"  I  think,  monsieur,"  said  Verrien,  presently,  the  words 
having  evidently  been  studied  beforehand,  and  being  uttered 
now  by  an  effort,  "that  I  have  completed  all  the  views  you 
spoke  of ;  and  when  they  £.13  all  transferred — to-morrow,  I 
mean,  monsieur — I  set  out." 

Royden,  looking  kindly  and  inquiringly  into  the  photo- 
grapher's  anxious  face,  saw  what  this  stay  at  The  Towers  had 
been  for  him  ;  and  although,  as  Verrien  said,  all  the  in- 
tended views  had  been  taken,  he  answered  promptly  that 
there  was  more  to  do,  and  he  hoped  Monsieur  Verrien  would 
stay  a  little  longer. 

"  Monsieur — Monsieur  Keith," — the  little  foreigner  was 
standing  before  Royden,  his  breath  hurried,  and  his  face  full 
of  pathos  in  spite  of  its  dark  features,  and  the  tortoise-shell 
spectacles  pushed  high  on  his  bald  head — "  Monsieur,  I  do 
not  know  how  to  say  it.  Even  in  my  own  language  I  could 
hardly  say  it  as  I  mean  it.  But  I  have  done  the  photo- 
trraphs  you  wished  for,  monsieur ;  and  if  you  order  more, 
it  is  only  because — because  I  am  poor,  and  you  are  pitiful." 

Royden  laughed  merrily. 

"  You  have  not  mastered  our  language  yet,"  he  said, 
shaking  his  head.  "  Let  me  translate  that  sentence  for  you. 
Say  it  after  me :  '  Monsieur,  if  you  order  any  more,  it  is 
only  because  I  am  successful  and  you  are  satisfied.'  There 
— that  is  what  we  call  correct  English." 

"Monsieur  Keith,  will  you  let  me  say  just  one  word 
more  ? " 

"  One,"  said  Royden,  smiling  at  Verrien's  evident  and 
almost  painful  anxiety,  "  but  only  one." 

"  I  meant  to  say  that,  if  you  had  dismissed  me  a  week 
ago,  you  would  still  have  been  most  kind  ;  but  now  I  ought 
to  be  sent " 

"  More  than  one,  and  a  waste  of  time,  monsieur.  Now 
for  business.  Show  me  what  you  have  taken  to-day." 

Royden's  generous,  kindly  tact  had,  by  this  speech,  set 
the   anxious   and   humble   Frenchman  at  his  ease  again, 
was    to    be  transacted,   and   business  was  uia 


IS  I  OLD  MYDDELTOITS  MONEY. 

province.  Two  minutes  afterwards  he  was  engrossed  by  the 
photographs,  and  so  excited  by  Mr.  Keith's  criticisms,  and 
BO  happy  in  his  praise,  that  Royden  could  hardly  help 
Bailing  at  the  sudden  change. 

"To-morrow,"  he  said,  at  last,  when  he  had  made  hip 
gnest  most  thoroughly  content,  "  there  are  two  important 
views  to  take,  and  in  the  evening  I  shall  be  here  as  usua 
to  see  them,  and  to  decide  upon  the  next.  Now,  Verrien 
whnt  about  home  news  ?  How  is  your  daughter,  for  I  saw 
you  had  a  letter  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  a  letter  from  Marie  herself  ;  she  is  just 
the  same — just  the  same,  I  know,  though  she  writea 
cheerfully  ;  and  she  is  getting  on  quite  well,  she  says,  with- 
out me." 

"  A  good  thing,"  remarked  Royden,  understanding  exactly 
what  the  unselfish  girl  had  said  ;  "  she  will  not  be  vexed 
then  at  my  keeping  you  longer.  And  how  are  the  ladies  at 
East  Cottage  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Disbrowe  is  very  ill,  monsieur — fading  fast  to  the 
grave,  Marie  says,  but  quite  content  it  is  so,  and  nursed  BO 
tenderly,  monsieur,  by  Miss  Craven — as  Marie  says.", 

"  Miss  Craven  is  not  in  London  even  yet,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  monsieur." 

"  And  what  about  Mrs.  Payte  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Payte,  monsieur,"  said  the  little  Frenchman, 
without  a  tone  of  interest  in  his  voice,  "  is  just  as  ever, 
Marie  says ;  so  I  suppose  she  is  sharp,  and  scolds — she 
always  did,  monsieur." 

"  Not  quite  always,"  said  Royden,  laughing.  "  Have  you 
news  of  anyone  else  in  Statton  ?  " 

*'  Only  of  Miss  Honor,  monsieur,  as  I  said." 

"  Anything  more  about  her,  then  ?  " 

Royden  asked  the  question  in  so  easy  a  tone  that  it  wonld 
have  taken  a  keener  perception  than  Verrien's  to  distinguish 
the  interest  that  lay  so  deep  below  it,  or  to  detect  the  fact 
that  all  the  news  of  Statton  centred  here  for  him. 

With  a  pride  that  was  almost  comical  in  its  intense 
solemnity,  Monsieur  Verrien  drew  his  daughter's  letter  from 
an  inner  pocket  of  his  coat,  and  began  to  read  aloud  one 
long  passage  devoted  to  Hon«r.  The  phraseology  was  un- 
gruuiuiutical  and  discuuneaeu,  ,uiu  the  reader  was  obliged 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MOXEY.  185 

to  make  continual  pauses  for  the  finding  of  his  place 
amongbt  the  small  scraps  of  paper  which  had  been  av 
Marie's  command  ;  but,  for  all  that,  the  father  had  i 
listener  who,  by  his  quiet,  concentrated  interest,  increase^ 
tenfold  bis  pride  in  his  daughter's  literary  achievements. 

"  That  is  all  of  Statton  news,  monsieur,"  he  said,  gather- 
ing the  papers  proudly  into  the  envelope  again  ;  "  you  wiL 
not  care  for  the  rest,  as  it  is  about  the  garden,  and  the  cat 
and  some  old  photographs  of  mine  that  she  likes  to  look  at, 
poor  child." 

A  little  longer  Mr.  Keith  stayed  chatting  with  the 
Frenchman  ;  then,  lenving  him  to  write  his  letter  home,  he 
descended  the  stairs,  his  thoughts  still  so  busy  with  those 
trifling  items  of  news  that,  when  he  reached  the  open  door 
of  the  room  for  which  he  was  bound,  he  paused  a  moment, 
as  if  he  would  recall  his  thoughts  and  chase  from  his  face 
some  trouble  which  he  felt  to  be  there. 

It  was  a  beautiful  apartment  which  he  entered,  not  very 
large,  but  furnished  with  exquisite  taste  and  a  most 
thorough  appreciation  of  comfort.  Reclining  on  a  low 
chair  by  the  fire  sat  an  elderly  lady  in  a  lavender -coloured 
silk  dress,  with  lavender  ribbons  in  her  cap.  She  rose  when 
Hoyden  entered  ;  and  though  she  took  her  seat  again  at 
his  request,  there  was  no  rest  in  her  attitude.  The  nervous- 
ness must  hare  been  new  to  her,  for  it  struck  Royden  in  a 
moment. 

"  Are  you  alone  ?  "  he  asked,  gazing  round  the  room. 
"  Has  Alice  left  you,  Miss  Henderson  ?" 

The  lady  thus  addressed  had  no  need  to  reply.  At  tho 
first  sound  of  his  voice  the  curtains  which  hung  before  one 
of  the  mullioned  windows  were  moved  aside,  and  a  lady 
tame  from  the  embrasure  out  into  the  room. 

"  I  am  here,  Roy,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  so  low  and  timid 
that  it  seemed  hushed  in  fear.  "  I  have  been  wondering 
where  you  were." 

"  Only  in  the  green  sitting-room,  watching  Verrien  at  hig 
work.  Have  you  wanted  me,  dear  ?  Have  you  been  ill  ? 
Or"— she  had  come  into  the  full  light  now,  and  stood 
looking  anxiously  at  him — "  frightened  ?  " 

"Yes,  frightened,"  she  answered,  almost  in  a  whisper. 
"  I  cannot  bear  to  tell  you,  Koy,  for  you  are  worried  so  5 


186  OLD  MYDDELTUN'S  MONET. 

but  still  I  must,  because  you  can  always  make  it  right  for 
us.  I  am  so  weak  and  timid,  and  you  are  so  cool  and  calm." 
"  What  fresh  worry  have  you  now,  Alice  ?  " 
He  had  held  out  one  hand  to  her  when  he  saw  the  fea* 
which  had  overcome  her — the  fear  with  which  she  had  not 
either  the  spirit  or  the  strength  to  battle— and  she  seized  it 
between  her  trembling  fingers,  as  she  answered — 

"  It  is  a  man,  Roy  den— a  man  who  has  beem  here  before. 
I  have  seen  him  once  myself,  in  the  dark  here,  prowling— 
a  small  man  in  black— very  small— thin,  as  well  as  short, 
and— he  is  here  to-night.  I  saw  him  first,  Roy  ;  and  Miss 
Henderson  has  seen  him.  I  took  her  to  one  of  the  west 
windows,  and  we  saw  him  go  through  the  shrubbery  ;  anc 
now  my  maid  has  seen  him  too,  and  she  says  he  has  beer 
here  before.  She  thinks  he  is  a  friend  of  one  of  the  men 
servants,  but  I  do  not.  I  know  he  is  here  to  spy.  No  inaL 
would  haunt  this  house  but  for  that  purpose.  Oh,  Royden, 
what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  dear.  Show  me  where  you  saw  him. 
With  an  unhurried  step,  and  a  cool,  rather  amused  face, 
he  walked  up  to  the  window  at  which  she  had  been  standing 
hidden  when  he  entered,  and  he  laughed  a  little  when  he 
met  her  piteous  eyes  ;  but,  for  all  that,  there  was  something 
in  his  face  which,  if  she  had  been  less  weak  and  anxious  for 
herself,  it  might  have  frightened  her  to  see. 

"  There,"  she  whispered,  below  her  breath,  as,  closing  the 
heavy  curtains  behind  them  to  shut  out  the  light  from  the 
room,  she  pointed  with  her  finger,  drawing  back  her  hand 
again  timidly,  as  if  afraid  of  even  that  slight  movement 
"There — just  passing  over  the  flower-bed!  There— 
towards  the  back  of  the  house  !  I  saw  him  quite  plainly 
when  the  clouds  passed  from  before  the  moon— quite 
plainly,  Roy,  for  he  had  not  time  to  hide  among  the  trees. 
He  is  at  the  back  of  the  house  now  somewhere  ;  at  least,  he 
has  not  passed  back  where  I  could  see  him.  It  is  the  same 
man— indeed  it  is — who  was  here  before.  He  was  here  to 
watch  us  then,  and  he  is  here  to  watch  us  now — else  why 
should  he  haunt  the  place  ?  Oh,  Roy,  do  not  be  angry 
with  me  in  this  dreadful  time  !  If  they  find  out  ' : 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  most  gently,  "why  should  ,[  be 
aii'-ry  "with  YOU  ?     And  do  .you  not  know  very  well  that  we 

c>   j  •* 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  187 

are  not  going  to  let  them  find  out  ?  Though  there  is  ona 
thing,"  he  added,  laughing  as  he  came  back  into  the  room, 
"  which  I  am  going  to  let  them  find  out." 

"  Oh,  Hoyden,  you  will  be  careful  ?  " 

"Very  careful,"  he  answered,  laying  his  hand  for  « 
moment  reassuringly  upon  her  shoulder  ;  "  very  careful, 
dear,  for  your  sake  ;  and  you  must  be  brave — for  mine." 

"  Mr.  Keith,"  said  Miss  Henderson,  coming  forward  for 
the  first  time,  her  voice  betraying  her  own  anxiety  and 
unrest,  "would  it  not  be  better  to  move  no  hand  in 
this  ?  Would  it  not  be  safer  and  wiser  ?  How  do  we 
know  who  this  may  be,  or  what  whispers  may  have  got 
abroad  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  know  him,"  said  Royden,  throwing  back  his  head 
with  a  hearty  laugh,  which  did  more  towards  giving  them 
courage  than  anything  else  could  have  done  just  then.  "  I 
know  him  as  a  harmless  little  spy,  whose  power  is  certainly 
not  vested  in  his  own  person.  You  have  no  need  to  fear, 
Miss  Henderson — do  feel  assured  of  that  ;  and,  Alice,  do 
not  tremble  so.  Sit  here,  my  dear,  and  wait  for  my  return. 
It  is  just  the  night  for  fears  and  fancies,  is  it  not  ?  But 
we  will  set  them  all  at  rest.  Ah,  it  would  have  done  you 
good,  as  it  did  me,  to  hear  the  poor  little  Frenchman  up- 
stairs talk  of  the  beauty  of  this  wild  night,  and  read  to  me 
of  a  woman  who  has  lived  for  ten  years  in  constant  acute 
bodily  suffering,  working  hard  in  poverty  all  the  while,  yet 
who  writes  from  her  sick  bed  that  for  him  to  be  happy  is 
the  only  longing  which  her  Father's  mercy  has  let  her  feel. 
Alice,  from  such  hearts  there  are  lessons  for  us  to  learn. 
Heaven  grant  we  may  not  waste  its  teaching  when  it  comes 
in  such  disguise." 

"  You  never  could,"  she  whispered  ;  "  and  I  am  trying — 
oh,  I  do  try,  Roy  !" 

He  answered  only  with  a  kind  and  gentle  smile,  and 
then  h-1.  turned  away. 

All  trace  of  this  smile  was  gone  before  he  reached  the  font 
jf  the  wide,  lamplit  staircase,  and  his  lips  were  firm,  and  his 
eyes  dark  with  anger.  The  "  gentleman's  gentleman  "  and 
the  portly  butler  (who  ruled  at  Westleigh  Towers  with  a  far 
greater  and  wider  despotism  than  ever  its  master  thought  to 
ezercise)  were  enjoying  a  glass  of  punch  together  be  lure  a 


188  OLD   MYDDELTUN'S  MONEY. 

great  fire  in  th«  pantry,  when  the  unexpected  entrance  of 
their  master  surprised  them. 

"You  are  wise,"  he  said,  in  his  pleasant  tones,  as  he 
walked  up  to  the  fire.  "On  snch  a  night  as  this  we  have  no 
excuse  for  not  keeping  ourselves  warm.  I  want  to  know, 
Evans,  whether  all  the  house-servants  are  indoors  to-night." 

"  I  fancy  so,  sir,"  the  butler  answered,  putting  a  chair 
towards  his  master.  °  Most  of  them  are  in  the  servants' 
hall.  Mrs.  Hart  is  in  her  own  room,  and  the  house-steward 
is  with  her  this  evening,  and  the  lady's  maid,  I  think." 

"  And  the  rest  are  in  the  hall  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  That  will  do.  Draw  your  chairs  to  the  fire  again.  1 
thought  I  should  need  you,  Evans,  but,  as  Burton  is  here  " 
(Burton  was  the  house-steward)  "  I  will  go  to  him." 

"  Shall  I  fetch  him,  or  send  him  to  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  want  no  fuss." 

If  the  appearance  of  the  master  had  caused  surprise  in  the 
butler's  pantry,  the  surprise  was  ten  times  greater  in  the 
housekeeper's  room. 

"  Go  into  the  hall  for  me,  Burton,"  he  said,  quietly  re- 
turning the  respectful  greetings ;  "I  want  to  know  if  all  the 
men  are  there — men  and  maids,  indeed.  Find  out  if  anyone 
is  missing,  and  I  will  wait  here." 

He  stood  before  the  fire  in  the  housekeeper's  snug  little 
room,  while  she  wondered  what  the  master  meant,  and  why 
he  should  be  anxious  to  know  that  all  the  servants  were 
together.  It  was  so  unlike  him. 

But  she  had  forgotten  her  passing  sense  of  injury,  and  was 
entertaining  him  to  the  best  of  her  ability,  when  Burton  re- 
turned to  say  that  one  man  was  away — a  new  servant.  He 
was  in  the  harness-room,  his  fellow-servants  thought,  as  he 
often  sat  there  at  night  with  the  grooms.  Should  Burton 
go  or  send  to  see  after  him  ? 

"  I  will  do  it  myself,  I  think,"  said  the  master,  quietly. 
"  If  I  go  through  this  west  door,  you  can  bolt  it  behind  me." 

Pausing  at  the  great  arched  entrance  to  the  stable-yard, 
Royden  turned  and  looked  round.  The  wild  gloom  of  the 
night  oppressed  him  unaccountably,  and  for  the  errand  he 
bad  taken  upon  himself  he  had  a  strange  and  angry  repug- 
nance ;  yet  at  that  moment,  as  he  looked  up  among  the 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S   MONET.  189 

heavy  clonds  and  away  across  the  heaving  sea,  one  memory 
rose  and  filled  his  eyes  with  a  warm  love — the  memory  of 
those  words  which  had  been  read  aloud  to  him  an  hour  ago 
and  which  told  of  Honor. 

The  harness-room,  to  which  Hoyden  at  once  made  his  way 
was  a  long  room  running  at  angles  with  the  gateway.  A 
large  fire  blazed  in  the  grate,  but  the  only  occupant  now  was 
a  young  groom  standing  at  a  distance  from  the  fire,  and 
whistling  merrily  as  he  trimmed  and  lighted  his  small  hand- 
lantern. 

A  few  words  told  all  he  had  to  tell.  The  man  the  m aster 
sought  had  been  there,  but  had  left  quite  an  hour  ago.  Yes, 
he  often  did  come  in  to  have  a  chat,  but  he  had  not  st;i\  ed 
long  to-night  ;  in  fact  some  friend  or  relation  had  called  for 
him  and  taken  him  out. 

No,  the  groom  could  tell  nothing  more.  It  was.qniti 
possible  the  two  men  had  gone  to  the  village  alehouse,  but 
really  he  could  not  tell  ;  he  had  not  noticed  this  visitor  who 
had  summoned  his  fellow-servant  away  ;  nor  had  he  cared 
to  ask  where  they  were  going.  He  had  only  by  chance  heard 
and  understood  that  the  man  had  been  urged  by  this  visitor 
to  go  and  make  an  evening  of  it.  Perhaps — the  groom  did 
not  know,  but  thought  it  possible — they  might  be  in  Mat 
Burke's  cottage.  Mat  was  quite  deaf  and  known  to  brew 
good  grog.  Mat  lived  near  The  Towers  too  ;  and,  after  all, 
it  was  not  very  likely  they  would  go  to  the  village  public, 
where  the  servants  from  Westk'igh  Towers  were  so  well 
known,  and  where  everyone  understood  well  enough  how 
little  the  master  would  like  to  hear  of  his  men  sitting 
there  at  night  to  drink.  No,  it  would  not  be  the  same  at 
Mat's.  Mat  was  a  quiet,  honest  man,  and  stone  deaf ;  only 
his  son's  brig  brought  over  a  cnsk  now  and  then,  and  Mat 
made  a  sly  bit  of  money  out  of  it  when  he  could. 

Quietly  setting  aside  all  offers  of  further  information  or 
personal  attendance,  the  master  went  back  to  the  house. 
Ten  minutes  afterwards,  with  the  fur  collar  of  his  long 
Russian  coat  buttoned  over  his  chin,  he  left  the  dark,  wet 
avenue,  and  turning  into  the  high  road,  walked  swiftly  on 
against  the  cutting  north-east  wind.  Royden  knew  Mat 
lin ike's  cottage  well,  and,  in  spite  of  the  scarce-broken 
daikneas,  made  his  way  direct  to  it.  A  torn  cotton  curtain 


190  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

was  drawn  before  the  window,  but  Royden  could  see  that 
the  kitchen  was  brightly  lighted  ;  and  he  could  hear  a 
roice  he  recognized — a  weak,  raised  voice,  the  sound  <>( 
which  made  him  pause  for  a  moment  with  a  feeling  of  cold 
repulsion — utter  his  own  name  with  a  laugh. 

He  gave  a  prompt,  loud  rap  upon  the  door,  but  in  the 
game  instant  he  opened  it,  and  stooping  to  pass  the  door- 
way, entered  at  once  into  the  bright,  untidy  room.  The 
sight  of  three  men  drinking  at  the  fire  was  no  surprise  to 
him  ;  but  to  those  three  men  the  entrance  of  the  master  of 
Westleigh  Towers  was  more  than  a  surprise. 

Mat  Burke  rose  as  quickly  as  his  rheumatism  would  allow, 
and,  pulling  a  lock  of  his  white  hair,  began  an  abject  and 
long-winded  apology  for  having  again  disobeyed  his  master's 
orders,  rambling  oft'  into  an  entreaty  not  to  be  turned  out 
of  his  cottage  even  this  time.  The  young  servant-man  from 
The  Towers  rose  and  stood  back  upon  the  hearth,  his  expres- 
sion a  ludicrous  struggle  between  fear  and  defiance  ;  but 
the  other  member  of  the  trio  did  not  rise  at  all.  He  had 
been  sitting  with  his  back  to  tiie  door  when  Royden 
entered,  and,  after  one  swift  glance  round,  he  had  main- 
tained his  position,  and  kept  his  face  turned  in  the  opposite 
direction.  In  this  attitude  the  short,  pinched  figure  of  Mr. 
Bickerton  Slimp  betrayed  nothing  of  his  sense  of  humilia- 
tion and  defeat,  or  of  the  malevolent  designs  which  warred 
tempestuously  within  his  limited  person  ;  and  his  narrow, 
col  urless  face  was  void  of  all  expression. 

Mr.  Keith  gave  not  one  glance  across  at  his  own  servant, 
and  only  silenced  the  old  man  with  a  gesture.  He  stationed 
himself  at  the  small  round  table,  and  looked  down  upon  the 
lawyer's  clerk.  A  long,  steady  gaze  it  was,  and,  though 
Mr.  Slimp  made  most  praiseworthy  efforts  to  appear  un- 
conscious of  it,  there  was  unmistakable  evidence  of  its 
Causing  him  an  unpleasant  sensation. 

"  This  is  not  a  public  bar.  Are  you  here  illegally,  of 
ire  you  here  as  a  friend  ?  " 

Several  answers  and  several  alternatives  rushed  through 
the  mind  of  Bickerton  Slimp,  when  this  question  was 
asked,  but  he  knew  that,  in  order  to  keep  up  the  rok  he  had 
assumed  with  these  men,  there  was  but  one  answer  he  could 
give,  if  he  gave  any ;  BO  he  gave  none. 


OLD  MYDDKT/TON'S  MONET,  191 

**A8  you  do  not  answer,  I  presume  my  footman  to  be  ft 
personal  friend  of  yours  ! " 

"  I  met  him  to-night  by  chance,"  returned  Mr.  Slimp, 
with  affected  ease. 

"  Did  you  ?  Chance  has  before  taken  you  into  my  stable- 
yard,  I  believe,  though  it  is  considered  rather  difficult  of 
access  to  strangers.  You  must  have  such  a  very  strong 
attachment  to  your  friend  that  I  am  induced  to  remove  all 
impediments  to  your  constant  intercourse.  I  would  not  be 
ungenerous  enough  to  separate  two  such  close  allies.  As 
Mr.  Slimp  values  your  society,"  he  added,  turning  his  eyes 
upon  the  young  man,  who  stood  as  far  back  as  he  could  in 
the  small  kitchen,  "  he  is  welcome  to  it ;  and  as  you  have 
been  willing  to  place  yourself  at  his  disposal,  do  so  entirely ; 
for  a  divided  service  is  a  treacherous  service  always.  Go* 
with  your  friend,  for  I  will  have  trusty  men  about  me,  and 
not  sneaks.  Now,"  he  added,  addressing  the  lawyer's  clerk 
with  easy  scorn,  "  you  can  pursue  your  inquiries  and  cement 
your  friendship  undeterred  by  fear — to  which  feeling,  I 
believe,  you  are  not  quite  a  stranger.  But  you  had  better 
not  trouble  yourself  to  seek  another  friend  in  my  household. 
A  personal  castigation,  however  exciting,  will  hardly  repay 
you  the  fatigue  of  the  journey  which  lies  between  here  and 
your  headquarters  in  Kinbury.". 

A  retort,  laden  with  threats,  reached  Rovden's  ear  as  he 
turned  from  the  cottage,  but  fell  most  harmlessly. 

He  re-entered  The  Towers  by  the  postern  door,  through 
which  he  had  gone  out,  and  when  he  walked  up-stairs  again, 
in  his  evening  dress  and  amid  the  warmth  and  lamp-light, 
there  was  no  trace  visible  of  his  anger  and  disdain.  On 
entering  the  room  where  he  had  first  heard  of  Mr.  Si  imp's 
espionage,  he  saw  the  elder  lady  sitting  unemployed  before 
ttie  fire,  just  as  he  had  left  her  ;  but  the  younger  one  was 
talking  restlessly  to  and  fro  between  the  window  and  the 
door.  At  sight  of  Royden  she  started  forward,  her  thin 
white  hands  clasped  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  Roy,  I  have  been  so  frightened,"  she  cried  ;  "sfl 
frightened  ;  and  yet  I  did  not  know  why." 

"Nor  do  I,"  he  answered,  lightly,  while  with  great  gentle- 
ness he  unlocked  her  strained  fingers.  "  There  was  no  need 
for  fear  ;  and,  bejond  that,  you  promised  me  to  Ve  brave." 


192  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

"  And  yon  ?"  she  questioned,  below  her  breath. 

"  I  ?  I  have  discovered  that  one  of  the  servants  hn«  « 
weakness  for  straying  in  the  darkness.  Is  that  anything 
to  cause  fear,  Alice  ?  Now  play  to  me." 

"  I  wish,"  she  said,  wistfully,  as  she  turned  to  the  piano. 
"I  had  not  worried  you,  and  given  you  this  alarm  for 
nothing." 

"  Worry  and  alarm !  I  hare  had  neither,  dear.  Now 
play." 

She  went  gladly,  for  she  well  knew  that  it  was  the  only 
means  by  which  she  ever  could  really  soothe  or  even  sym- 
pathise with  him.  The  elder  lady,  sitting  opposite  ROY den 
at  the  fire,  saw  his  eyes  close,  and  thought  he  was  asleep. 
She  whispered  this  to  Alice. 

"  You  have  soothed  him  to  sleep,  dear  ;  I  am  glad,  for 
he  seemed  tired  and  harassed  to-night." 

But  Alice  knew  he  was  not  sleeping,  and  she  only  nodded 
gently,  and  played  on. 

"  My  dear,"  whispered  Miss  Henderson,  at  last,  lifting 
one  of  the  thin  hands  from  the  key-board,  "you  must  go 
to  rest,  or  you  will  be  ill  to-morrow  after  this  fear  and 
excitement.  Stay,  shall  I  ring  for  tea  ?  That  will  rouse 
Mr.  Keith." 

Hoyden  opened  his  eyes,  and  lifted  his  head  from  its 
lazy  position  in  his  clasped  palms. 

"  Were  you  tired,  Alice  ?  " 

"No  I  am  not  tired  of  playing  to  you,"  she  said.  "  1 
never  am,  because  you  like  it.  I  only  wish  I  could  do  it 
better.  Somehow  my  fingers  are  so  weak — like  my  health 
and  my  spirit,  Roy." 

"  Weak,  are  they  ?  "—  She  was  standing  near  him  now 
upon  the  rug,  and  as  he  spoke  he  took  up  her  left  hand  — 
"  It  is  not  nearly  so  thin  as  it  has  been — I  am  very  thank- 
ful  for  that — but  I  want  to  see  it  as  it  used  to  be  ;  I  want 
to  see  the  ring  as  tight  as  I  remember  it  at  first." 

With  a  sudden,  irresistible  impulse,  she  drew  her  hand 
from  his,  and  pressed  her  lips  upon  the  plain  gold  ring 
which  turned  so  easily  upon  the  third  finger.  And,  while 
she  held  it  so,  she  burst  into  uncontrolled  and  piteoiu 
weeping. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONKT. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

From  the  bed  where  now  she  li(  s, 
With  snow-white  face  and  closed  eyet, 
She  ne'er  must  rise  again. 

PROFESSOR  W/xsow. 

THE  long  December  nighb  was  drawing  to  its  close.  A 
covering  of  untrodden  snow  lent  its  white,  hushed  silence 
to  the  scene.  But  that  hush  of  death  which  is  the  deepest 
hush  of  all  descended  slowly  too  upon  its  silent  wings. 

In  one  hour  more  the  dawn  would  break  above  tht 
snow  ;  in  one  hour  more  the  pulse  of  life  would  throb 
again  throughout  the  land.  But  for  this  waiting  soul  a 
fairer  dawn  would  break,  and  the  fevered  pulse  would  cease 
its  throbbing. 

"  Honor,"  whispered  the  dying  voice,  "  you  have  been 
very  good ;  always  patient,  watchful,  kind  ;  and  for  all 
return  I  can  only  pray  that  God  will  bless  you,  dear,  in  His 
own  way — in  His  own  way — which  is  best." 

Mrs.  Payte  stood  at  the  bedside  of  her  old  companion, 
firm  and  upright.  There  was  no  abandonment  in  her 
prief ;  there  was  even  no  appearance  of  the  grief ;  but 
Honor  knew  it  was  held  back  with  iron  will  ;  and  the  girl, 
purposely  leaving  the  old  friends  together  at  times,  knew, 
when  she  returned  at  their  call,  and  found  the  restless  old 
lady  bustling  about  as  was  her  wont,  that  it  had  not  been 
go  in  her  absence. 

"  Edna " — the  failing  voice  faltered  in  its  last  appeal, 
and  the  nerveless  hands  relaxed  in  their  last  clasp — "  you 
have  been  wise  ;  I  see  it  all  plainly  now,  though  I  thought 
it  wrong.  I  have  been  a  great  trouble  to  you,  Edna  ;  but 
you  have  been  very  good.  I  knew  you  best.  Honor,  she 
was  always  kind  and  good  to  me  ;  and  now  you  will  comfort 
her,  you  will  help  her,  you  will  love  her  ?" 

"  Always." 

The  word  was  uttered  with  all  the  earnestness  of  truth, 
and  Honor's  hand  closed  firmly  on  Mrs.  Disbrowe's  nervous 
hVgers.  But  Mrs.  Payte  only  muttered,  curtly,  that  it  was 
better  to  make  no  rash  promises,  and  then  turned  away  and 
stood  beside  the  fire,  with  her  back  to  the  dying  woman. 


194  OLD  ilYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

Softly  fell  the  snow-flakes  past  the  curtained  window  ; 
softly  broke  the  dawn  in  the  far  east. 

"  Father,  into  Thy  hands  " — Honor's  low  voice  faltered,- 
for  in  the  patient,  watching  eyes  had  broken  the  glory  of 
the  End.  Pure  as  the  snowflakes,  softly  flying  downwards, 
yet  untainted,  rose  the  free  spirit  to  which  no  taint  of  earth 
could  ever  cling  again.  Fairer  than  the  dawn  beyond  the 
hills,  broke,  for  the  patient,  waiting  soul,  the  Morning  of 
Heaven. 

"  Is  this" — the  girl's  eyes  were  lingering  softly  on  the 
eyes  she  had  so  gently  closed,  and  her  tears  were  falling 
fast—"  the  end  ?  " 

"  For  us  the  end,"  Honor  answered,  turning  and  taking 
on  her  breast  the  drawn  and  ligid  face  of  the  woman  who 
had  lost  her  one  companion,  and  looking  into  it  the  while 
with  the  steadfast  bravery  of  faith  ;  "  for  her  the  beginning 
of  the  bright  and  painless  life." 

"  Don't  touch  me  as  if  you  loved  me  !  I  have  been  hard 
and  exacting,  rough  and  impatient.  Leave  me  with  her." 

Through  that  hour's  thought  beside  the  dead,  no  sound 
broke  the  silence  ;  no  cry  for  pardon  passed  the  stiff,  dry 
lips ;  Mrs.  Payte's  regret,  after  all,  seemed  to  hold  no 
remorse  for  her  own  harshness.  It  might  almost  have 
been  that  that  long  backward  thought  brought  no 
remembrance  of  injury  to  the  dead. 

The  hour  had  barely  passed,  when  Honor,  entering  softly, 
took  the  old  lady  by  the  hand,  and  led  her  down  into  the 
warm  sitting-room,  where,  though  the  blinds  were  drawn, 
the  morning  light  fell  clear ;  where  a  bright  fire  sent  its 
cheery  glow  and  pleasant  hum  to  meet  them,  and  where,  on 
the  breakfast-table,  lay  one  fresh  sweet  rose,  carrying  its 
matchless  lesson  of  the  Resurrection  of  Life. 

Then  it  was,  and  not  till  then,  that  tears  welled  up 
inddenly  in  the  shrewd  eyes  of  this  little  old  lady  to  whom 
grief  had  seemed  an  impossibility,  and  she  turned  her  face 
and  hid  it  on  the  cushions  of  the  couch  ;  while  Honor — in 
her  girl-wisdom,  knowing  it  was  well  such  tears  should 
have  their  way — knelt  beside  her,  soothing  her  ouly  with 
mute  caresses,  and  the  silent  strength  of  sympathy 
******* 

"  Don't  stay  with  me.  child.     Of  course  I'm  lonely,  and 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  195 

of  course  I'm  heart-broken  ;  but  don't  stay  with  mo.  or 
you'll  lose,  b«»yond  hope  of  recovery,  every  chance  of  a  share 
in  old  MyoMehon's  money." 

This  was  Mrs.  Payte's  almost  hourly  plaint,  during  the  days 
that  intervened  between  Mrs.  Disbrowe's  death  and  funeral. 

"  Of  course  I  like  you  with  me,  child  ;  bat  you  ought  to 
go,  for  your  own  sake." 

Honor  detected  no  selfishness  in  the  speech.  She  saw 
hat  the  old  lady's  feeling  of  loneliness  was  unfeigned,  and 
4he  never  hesitated  in  her  own  decision.  Mrs.  Payte  had 
made  arrangements  to  leave  Statton  on  the  day  after  the 
funeral.  She  had  not  quite  decided  where  she  should 
finally  settle,  but  for  a  time  she  was  going  amongst  friends. 
Once  away  from  East  Cottage,  she  said,  where  the  rooms 
were  haunted  by  memories  of  her  old  friend,  she  should 
stand  a  chance  of  regaining  her  spirits. 

So,  without  a  pang  of  selfish  doubt  or  hesitation,  Honor 
made  her  plans  too.  She  would  stay  with  the  solitary  old 
lady  through  those  few  sad  days  at  East  Cottage,  see  her 
comfortably  off  upon  her  journey,  and  then  feel  at  liberty 
herself  to  join  her  relatives  in  London. 

"  I  wish  you  had  gone  when  the  others  went,"  whined 
Mrs.  Payte,  as  they  sat  together  over  the  fire  on  the  night 
before  the  funeral  ;  "  I  am  sure  you  are  regretting  it  at 
this  moment.  What  claim  had  I  upon  you  that  you  should 
deny  yourself  for  me  ?  " 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  Lady  Lawrence,"  said  Honor, 
gently.  "  I  was  thinking  of  Mrs.  Disbrowe." 

"  I  know  old  Myddelton's  sister  will  be  enraged  with 
you,"  continued  Mrs.  Payte,  not  heeding  the  girl's  reply. 
"  Probably  she  will  refuse  to  see  you  when  you  do  go." 

"  Then  I  shall  come  back." 

"  And  you  don't  regret  it  ?  " 

The  tone  was  sharp,  and  the  glance  was  a  suspicious 
glance  j  but  Honor  did  not  notice  either. 

"  No,  I  do  not — and  never  shall— regret  it,"  she  answered, 
Bimply. 

Then,  to  her  great  relief,  the  subject  was  dropped  for  the 
last  time,  and  the  old  lady  received,  almost  in  silence,  the 
girl's  sympathy  and  attention  during  that  chilly  day  of  the 
funeral. 


196  OLD   MYDDELTOS'8  MONEY. 

"  Poor  Selina,"  muttered  Mrs.  Payte,  as  she  and  Honor 
entered  the  cottage  after  the  dreary  ceremony,  "  I  shall  misa 
her  greatly.  There  was  plenty  of  good  in  Selina — plenty  ; 
though  she  was  weak  and  incapable.  She  was  no  relation 
of  mine  ;  but  still  I  shall  go  to  the  expense  of  wearing 
mourning  for  her  when  I  find  myself  in  a  civilized'  neigh- 
bourhood, where  I  can  get  a  gown  made  to  fit.  Till  then 
this  will  do  very  well.  Eh,  Honor  ?  " 

The  girl's  lashes  were  heavy  with  tears,  "Was  this  the  only 
requiem  for  one  who  had  been  so  patient,  and  loved  so  much  ? 

"  It  was  very  thoughtful  of  you  to  put  on  a  black  dress  for 
X)-day,"  continued  the  old  lady,  "  but  of  course  it  was  un- 
necessary. Everybody  knows  that  Selina  was  nothing  to  you. 
If  they  had  been  at  home  at  The  Larches  or  at  Deergrove, 
they  would  have  laughed  finely.  Now,  child,  let  us  have  a 
cup  of  tea  and  arrange  about  to-morrow.  Somehow,  I  don't 
care  to  part  with  you." 

"  "We  will  not  part  until  you  leave  Statton,  Mrs.  Payte," 
Baid  Honor,  gently,  as  they  entered  the  sitttng-room,  and 
the  maid-servant  came  in  to  change  her  mistress's  boots  ; 
•*'  I  shall  first  see  you  off  on  your  way  to  your  friends." 

Honor  drew  the  old  lady's  chair  and  footstool  up  to  the 
fire,  and  handed  her  her  tea.  True  she  was  pettish  and 
selfish  and  complaining,  but  was  she  not  old  and  solitary  ? 
And,  in  spite  of  all  her  harshness,  could  not  Honor  see  the 
lines  of  grief  and  anxiety  upon  her  face  ? 

Early  next  morning,  Mrs.  Payte,  with  her  arm  in  Honor's, 
was  waiting  on  the  station  platform.  She  had  found  out 
that  she  must  travel  by  this  early  train,  as  she  would  have 
to  change  at  Langham  Junction,  she  said,  and  might  have 
to  wait  there. 

"  I  shall  hardly  take  any  luggage  at  all,"  she  decided  j 
"what  need  ?  I  shall  get  my  mourning  where  I  am  going, 
and  of  course  I  shall  have  to  send  back  to  East  Cottage. 
When  I  have  made  my  plans,  I  shall  let  you  have  my  address. 
Now,  what  about  yourself,  Honor  ?  " 

"  I  shall  go  home  after  you  have  left,  Mrs.  Payte,  but  I 
Bhall  be  quite  ready  to  start  by  the  mid-day  train  for 
London.  I  have  very  little  to  take.  We  are  not  invited  to 
stay  with  Lady  Lawrence,  you  know  ;  only  to  meet  her  there 
for  the  will  to  be  made." 


OLD  MYDDELTON'g  MONEY.  197 

u  And  jon  intend,  after  all,  to  go  in  that  startling  grey 
and  crimson  dress  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Payte  ;  it  is  my  best." 

"  Senseless  child,  when  Mr.  Stafford  so  particularly  said 
that  old  Myddelton's  sister  liked  simplicity.  Well,  it's  no 
use  arguing  further  about  it.  Where  is  that  stupid  woman 
with  my  rug  ?  " 

The  stupid  woman — Mrs.  Payte's  very  patient  maid- 
servant— came  up  with  shawls  and  cloaks,  and  put  them 
into  a  first-class  compartment  with  her  mistress.  She  her- 
self then  took  a  seat  in  a  second-class  carriage,  provided 
with  a  plentiful  supply  of  cold  chicken  and  claret  for  her 
own  refreshment  during  her  journey  ;  and  the  train  roiled 
(slowly,  on  its  way. 

Honor  returned  to  East  Cottage  in  the  fly  which  l.ad 
taken  them  to  the  station.  For  more  than  an  hour  she 
stopped  to  cheer  and  to  help  Marie  Verrien,  who  was  alone 
now.  After  that  she  went  home  to  make  her  own  prepara- 
tions. They  were  quickly  finished,  as  she  had  said  ;  then 
the  servants  (though  they  were  on  board  wages)  brought  her 
in,  unasked,  a  mutton-chop  and  a  cup  of  tea.  So,  by  mid- 
day, she  was  again  waiting  upon  the  station  platform. 

"  Why,  my  dear  Miss  Craven,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Romer, 
meeting  her  tliere,  "  I  thought  you  started  this  morning 
with  Mrs.  Payte  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,"  smiled  Honor  ;  "  she  went  by  the  seven  o'clock 
train.  I  am  going  to  London,  you  know." 

"  Of  course  I  know  ;  that  is  why  I  felt  sure  you  were 
gone.  Why,  if  you  had  taken  her  train  to  Langham  Junc- 
tion, yon  would  have  caught  the  up  express,  and  been  in 
Kensington  before  now." 

"Oh,  what  a  pity  !  "  cried  Honor.  "I  never  thought  ol 
it,  nor  did  Mrs.  Payte." 

"  Ladies  never  do  understand  anything  about  trains,"  re- 
marked the  Rector,  merrily.  "  Now  let  me  see  you  snugly  off." 

He  chose  a  seat  for  her,  brought  her  a  paper,  had  the 
water-tin  refilled,  and  saw  that  she  was  well  prepared  in 
«svery  way  for  her  cold  journey.  Yet  from  that  moment  It 
was  a  miserable  journey  to  Honor,  for  she  could  not  find 
Lady  Lawrence's  address.  She  remembered  having  had  it 
ill  her  hand  at  the  station,  when  she  had  been  there  in  tha 

o 


198  OT,D  MYDDELTON'S    MONET. 

early  rooming  with  Mrs.  Payte  ;  she  was  quite  snre  of  that, 
because  the  old  lady  had  read  it,  and  had  told  her  to  be 
careful  of  it,  saying  it  was  of  too  much  value  to  be  trined.  witn. 
When  she  reached  London,  Honor  earnestly  interrogated 
the  porters,  and  even  ventured  out  to  question  the  cabmen. 
Did  they  happen  to  know  what  house  in  Kensington  had 
been  Sir  Hervey  Lawrence's,  or  in  what  house  Lady 
Lawrence  lived  now  ?— "  Though  I  am  afraid  you  do  not," 
added  Honor,  naively,  "  for  she  has  only  just  returned  from 

The 'men  were  willing  enough  to  take  her  to  find  the 
house,  but  in  no  other  way  could  they  help  her.  Lady 
Lawrence  was  urn  dame  inconnue;  but  they  knew  Kensing- 
ton from  end  to  end,  of  course,  and  they  would  soon  find 

the  house.  .    „ 

A  tedious  two  hours  Honor  spent,  driving  slowly  from 
spot  to  spot  in  Kensington  ;  but  at  last  her  destination  was 
found.  Her  heart  beat  fast  when  the  cab  stopped— for  good 
and  all  this  time— before  a  grand  and  lofty  mansion.  She 
had  had  no  thought  yet  but  for  her  own  carelessness  and 
the  awkwardness  of  her  position  ;  so  that  now  the  meeting, 
which  for  so  long  had  been  looming  afar,  seemed  to  have 
come  upon  her  with  a  sudden  rush. 

In  answer  to  the  cabman's  ring,  two  powdered  footmen 
came  out  to  meet  this  visitor  for  Lady  Lawrence. 

"  That  is  all  my  luggage,  thank  you,"  she  said,  while 
she  drew  out  her  purse  and  almost  shyly  tendered  a  half- 
Bovereign  to  the  powdered  Colossus.  "  Will  you  pay  him 

forme.?" 

The  man  bowed,  and  passed  on  the  money,  while  an 
elderly  man  in  black  led  Honor  upstairs,  and  left  her  in 
the  care  of  a  lady's-maid,  who  looked  almost  a  lady  herself 
in  her  beautifully-made  black  dress,  with  a  delicate  square 
of  lace  upon  her  head,  and  a  tiny  apron  of  fine  muslm  WJth 
black  bows  upon  the  pockets. 

Almost  unwillingly,  Honor  accepted  her  deft  and  E 
help  The  girl  longed  to  be  alone  for  these -few  minutes. 
It  was  all  so  strange  to  her,  and  so  oppressive.  In  the 
immense,  sombre  house,  no  sound  broke  the  grand  and 
dreamy  silence  ;  and  even  the  very  tread  of  her  own  loot, 
soft  and  muffled,  seemed  strange  to  her. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'B    MONEY.  199 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  said  ;  and  it  struck  her  oddly  that  she 
was  schooling  her  voice  to  these  new  surroundings. 

She  followed  the  maid  along  the  corridors,  until  a  gentle- 
man in  black,  carrying  a  white  wand,  met  her,  led  her  with- 
out a  word  to  the  door  where  he  had  stood,  and,  throwing  it 
open,  announced,  "  Miss  Craven,"  in  a  clear,  imposing  voice. 

At  first  Honor  felt  too  shy  and  dazzled  to  look  round. 
She  could  only  walk  on  into  the  high,  long  room,  dimly 
conscious  of  the  presence  of  others.  But  presently,  when 
she  was  greeted  by  voices  she  knew,  she  recovered  her  old 
ease,  and  looked  round  for  Lady  Lawrence.  Evidently 
Lady  Lawrence  was  not  there,  and  she  was  simply  amongst 
the  old  friends  with  whom,  or  near  whom,  she  had  spent  all 
her  life. 

Captain  Trent  came  forward  to  meet  her  with  only  half 
concealed  eagerness,  and  Lawrence  Haughton  watched  her 
keenly  from  where  he  stood,  though  too  angry  or  too  proud 
to  advance  one  step  towards  her.  Mrs.  Trent  nodded  from 
her  couch  ;  Theodora  exclaimed,  with  an  incomprehensible 
smile,  that  she  knew  Honor  would  take  care  to  be  in  time, 
after  all  her  apparent  indifference  ;  Miss  Haughton  put  out 
her  hand  and  let  the  girl  kiss  her  ;  but  Phoebe  jumped  up 
and  gave  two  kisses  for  Honor's  one,  delighting  evidently  in 
the  interruption. 

"  Oh,  we  are  so  tired  of  waiting,  Honor,"  she  exclaimed, 
impetuously,  "it  is  so  dull  and  disappointing.  Lady 
Lawrence  has  not  left  her  room  yet.  She  did  not  come  at 
all  till  we  had  been  here  for  days  and  days.  She  had  not 
reached  England,  so  even  we  were  in  good  time,  let  alone 
Theo,  who  was  so  much  earlier.  She  came  in  tremendous 
style,  rattling  up  in  a  private  chaise,  with  four  horses  and 
four  servants,  but  she  could  not  see  us  then,  she  was  so 
fatigued,  and  she  has  not  left  her  room  since.  Oh,  I  wish 
she  would  make  haste  !  "  * 

"  Then  I  am  in  time  ?  "  said  Honor,  really  astonished. 

"  Exactly  in  time,  for  we  are  to  dine  with  her  to-night ; 
and,  if  she  does  come  in  here  before,  as  she  is  expected  to 
do,  you  will  still  be  in  time,  you  see." 

"  Lady  Lawrence  will  decide  that,"  said  Theodora,  her 
harsh  tone  betraying  a  little  of  the  mortification  which  had 
for  days  been  consuming  her,  "  for  Mr.  Stafford  cuine  in 


200  OLD   MYDDELTON'fi   MONET. 

this  morning  for  the  names  of  all  who  were  here,  and 
especially  of  those  who  had  arrived  first.  Of  course,  youri 
could  not  be  sent  at  all." 

"Of  course  not,"  absented  Honor,  promptly. 

"  And  I  do  not  think,"  added  Mrs.  Trent,  "  that  Ladj 
Lawrence  will  be  very  much  pleased  to  find  that  her  invite- 
don,  and  indeed  command,  has  been  set  at  defiance  by  the 
very  youngest  of  all  her  connections." 

"  Oh,  the  youngest  cannot  much  signify  in  any  case," 
rejoined  Honor,  merrily  ignoring  the  contemptuous 
innuendoes. 

"  Mr.  Stafford  said,"  added  Theodora,  "  that  of  course 
the  first  arrivals  had  paid  Lady  Lawrence  the  highest 
compliment ;  and  he  inquired  particularly  why  one  should 
be  absent.  We  had  great  difficulty  in  explaining  your 
perversity." 

"  Had  you  ?  "  questioned  Honor,  as  she  stood  before  the 
fire  warming  her  hands.  "  I  should  have  fancied  it  easy. 
But  how  strange  you  all  look  !  " 

"  It  is  you  who  look  strange  in  this  house,  Honor," 
remarked  Miss  Haughton.  "  Do  you  not  see  how  sombre 
everything  is  ?  And  do  you  not  recollect  what  Mr.  Stafford 
told  us  about  the  simplicity  of  Lady  Lawrence's  taste  in 
dress?  You  heard  it  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us.  If  you 
choose  to  forget  it,  or  defy  it,  you  must  take  the  conse- 
quences." 

"  I  do  not  think,"  observed  Honor,  looking  slowly  round 
upon  the  group,  with  a  mischievous  sparkle  in  her  eyes, 
"  that  you — any  of  you — look  quite  natuial." 

"  We  are  trying  to  please  Lady  Lawrence." 

"But  I  do  not  think  she  wished  to  see  us  feigning  other 
natures  than  our  own,  or  even  other  habits  ;  so  I  came  as  I 
usually  am." 

Lawrence  rose  from  his  lounge  near  one  of  the  windows. 
Ever  since  Honor's  entrance,  his  eyes  had  been  fixed 
upon  her.  The  young  figure,  in  its  bright  and  picturesque 
dress  and  in  its  perfect  ease,  and  the  lovely  face,  so  entirely 
without  self-consciousness,  had  come  like  a  charm  to  him  in 
this  sombre  room  and  among  these  factitious  surroundings  ; 
yet  now  suddenly  it  began  to  anger  him,  as  the  presence  of 
clear-judging  truth  will  ever  anger  masked  deceit. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  201 

He  turned  and  looked  moodily  and  persistently  out  upon 
the  quiet  wintry  gardens.  If  this  feeling  of  wrath  against 
Honor  were  to  be  encouraged,  he  knew  he  must  not  follow 
he?  with  his  eyes.  The  influence  which,  even  from  a  child, 
her  presence  had  exercised  over  the  hard  and  austere  man  o' 
the  world  could  not  be  hidden  while  he  watched  the  beau- 
tiful changing  face  he  loved  so  passionately. 

"  How  are  the  servants  at  home  behaving,  Honor  ?  "  in- 
quired Miss  Hau^hton. 

Honor  looked  curiously  for  a  moment  at  her  guardian's 
sister.  From  her,  at  least,  she  had  expected  an  inquiry  for 
the  poor  sick  lady  whom  she  had  stayed  behind  to  nurse. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  speaking  rather  heavily  in  her  dis- 
appointment. "  Phoebe,  I  am  sorry  to  say  your  bird  is  dead; 
you  forgot  to  leave  any  particular  instruction  " 

"Hush  !"  exclaimed  Phoebe,  ecstatically.  "What  is  that  ?' 

She  had  arrested  her  attention  in  this  manner  a  hundred 
times  before,  but  Honor  did  not  know  this,  and  so  of  course 
she  listened. 

"  I  heard  a  step,  I  am  sure,"  said  Phoebe,  apologetically, 
when  no  sound  reached  any  other  ears  ;  "  and  I  thought  it 
was  Lady  Lawrence,  Oh,  Honor,  what  a  pity  about  my 
bird  ! "  and  for  the  space  of  six  minutes  Phoebe  mourned  her 
lost  canary. 

"  Honor,  how  are  the  old  women  at  East  Cottage  ?  "  in- 
quired Mrs.  Trent,  feeling  that  any  news  might  serve  to 
pass  the  time. 

Honor  told  her  in  few  words  ;  then,  for  a  time,  silence 
eettled  among  them;  and  Honor,  from  her  low  seat  near 
the  fire,  surveyed  the  group  in  puzzled  wonder.  Hardly  one 
of  them  looked  or  acted  as  she  had  been  accustomed  to  see 
them  look  and  act,  and  she  tried  to  make  the  change  clear  to 
herself.  Even  Mrs.  Trent  had  adopted  the  simple  attir* 
which  Lady  Lawrence  was  supposed  to  affect,  and  of  the 
whole  group  perhaps  the  greatest  difference  was  observable 
in  her.  To  miss  the  voluminous  silks,  the  laces,  flowers,  and 
jewelry,  was  to  miss  Mrs.  Trent  herself. 

In  Theodora  the  change  was  almost  as  great.  She  was 
a  different  person  {without  her  brilliant  toilettes,  with  their 
manifold  minor  allurements  ;  but  just  at  this  time  Honor 
could  note  another  change.  Miss  Trent's  patience  was 


202  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

exhausted.  The  languid  placidity  had  given  way  to  a  worried 
peevishness  as  a  normal  expression.  Only  now  and  then, 
•with  sudden  recollection  and  alarm,  could  she  call  back  her 
complacency.  But  her  moods  were  too  uncertain  to  retain 
it,  and  the  fretful  look  was  resumed  unconsciously. 

To  Honor  the  whole  thing  was  a  comedy.  Jane's  rigidly 
Quaker  attire ;  Phoebe's  studied  simplicity — Phoebe,  to 
whom  ribbons,  and  feathers,  and  frills  had  hitherto  been 
the  necessaries  of  life  ! — the  affected  geniality  of  Mr. 
Haughton's  expression  when  sudden  moments  of  recollec- 
tion visited  him  ;  and  the  utterly  unsuccessful  attempt  of 
Captain  Trent  to  be  devoid  of  affectation  just  for  this 
once. 

So  they  sat  at  their  several  occupations,  in  the  immense 
room  in  which  they  seemed  so  few,  where  the  rich  glow  of 
firelight  fell  upon  a  profusion  of  valuable  Indian  furniture, 
and  where  the  silence  was  as  dreamy  as  was  the  silence 
without,  while  the  December  afternoon  drew  to  its  close. 
So  they  sat,  minute  after  minute,  waiting. 

"  How  sick  I  am  of  expecting  her  !  "  observed  Theodora, 
speaking  almost  unconsciously  as  she  threw  down  her  work 
and  moved  to  the  window.  "  Ah  ! " 

But  the  door  had  been  opened  only  to  admit  Mr.  Stafford, 
Lady  Lawrence's  lawyer.  Though  Miss  Trent's  first  feeling 
was  disappointment,  she  could  but  hail  his  coming  as  a  relief 
to  the  monotony,  and  she  roused  herself  to  engross  him.  He 
chatted  merrily  among  them  for  a  time,  and  cracked  various 
good-natured  jokes  about  his  idle  client. 

"  She  takes  an  unconscionable  time  to  sleep  off  her 
fatigue,"  he  said,  "  but  I  suppose  she  will  really  be  down 
presently.  She  will  dine  with  you  to-night  without  fail. 
A-h — who  comes  here  ?  " 

Two  gentlemen  entered  the  room  as  he  spoke  ;  one  being 
Lady  Lawrence's  chaplain,  and  the  other  a  swarthy,  fine- 
looking  young  man,  in  an  embroidered  silk  cap — a  man  who 
was  evidently  Indian  by  birth,  and  who — though  this 
certainly  was  not  evidenced  in  his  martial  bearing  or  foreign, 
appearance — was  Lady  Lawrence's  private  secretary.  His 
advent  was  a  treat  for  Theodora.  She  wps  keen  enough  to 
detect  the  signs  of  "  caste  ;  "  and  what  a  relief  a  little  flirta- 
tion would  be  in  this  tedious  waiting  ! 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  208 

Abont  half  an  hour  after  the  entrance  of  these  two  gentle- 
men, and  when  conversation  was  getting  lively  and  general 
in  the  long  drawing-room — though  Mr.  Stafford,  the  chief 
talker,  had  been  for  some  minutes  absent — a  slight  old  lady 
alighted  nimbly  from  a  cab  at  the  door  of  Lady  Lawrence's 
mansion,  and,  much  to  the  surprise  of  the  powdered  footmen, 
inquired  for  Miss  Craven.  One  of  them  gravely  consented 
to  inquire,  and,  in  consequence  of  this  concession,  the  gen- 
tleman-usher appeared  again  at  the  drawing-room  door,  to 
inform  Miss  Craven  that  a  lady  waited  to  see  her. 

"  The  most  curious  little  person  I  ever  chanced  to  en- 
counter," whispered  Mr.  Stafford,  happening  to  return  at 
that  minute.  "  I  would  not  go  down  to  see  her,  Miss 
Craven,  if  I  were  you.  Had  she  been  a  real  lady,  the  ser- 
vants would  have  been  quick  to  see  it,  and  she  would  have 
been  shown  in  here  before  me." 

But  Honor  rose  at  once  to  go,  though  she  had  no  need  to 
do  so.  Almost  before  the  .lawyer's  words  were  finished, 
Mrs.  Payte  herself,  in  defiance  of  the  usher's  hesitation, 
appeared  in  the  high  doorway,  and,  frowning  a  little,  as  if 
either  the  size  of  the  room  or  the  glare  of  the  firelight 
dazzled  her,  stood  there  for  a  minute  gazing  around  her. 

"  A  curious  little  person,"  well  might  Mr.  Stafford  say  ; 
and  never  had  she  looked  so  curious  as  she  did  now.  She 
wore  still  the  shabby  black  costume  which  she  had  assumed 
for  Mrs.  Disbrowe's  funeral,  and  this  was  surmounted  by  a 
broad-brimmed  black  hat,  for  which  in  June  there  might 
have  been  some  excuse,  but  which  in  December  was  ridi- 
culous as  well  as  hideous. 

Altogether,  Buch  a  figure  as  this  must  assuredly  h&ve 
startled  the  select  and  aristocratic  neighbourhood,  and  such 
eccentric  shabbiness  must  be  a  new  spectacle  to  the  stylish 
and  immaculate  retainers  in  Lady  Lawrence's  household. 
Still,  however  ludicrous  the  scene,  this  visitor's  name  waa 
announced  with  just  the  same  solemn  arH  res^iectlul  gravity 
with  which  the  others  had  been 

"Mrs.  Payte." 


204  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MOSEY. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

There  was  silence  deep  as  death, 

And  the  boldest  held  his  breath, 

For  a  time. 

THEODORA.  TRENT  turned  her  back  most  unmistakably 
upon  that  excited  little  lady,  and  began  an  energetic  con- 
versation with  the  secretary,  who  listened  and  conversed 
most  deferentially,  but  yet  had  an  amused  twinkle  in  his 
long  Indian  eves,  as  if  he  understood  a  little  more  than  she 
expressed  to  him. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  with  well-feigned  ignorance, 
"  who  this  person  can  be  who  has  taken  the  trouble  to  seek 
Miss  Craven  here  ?  I  always  knew  that  Miss  Craven  was 
an  odd  girl,  and  had  odd  acquaintances,  but  I  should 
hardly  have  supposed  she  would  encourage  them  to  follow 
her  here." 

The  Indian  bowed  gravely.  Her  ladyship  would  be  sur- 
prised to  find  such  a  visitor  here,  doubtless,  he  said. 

"  I  hope,"  put  in  Theodora,  smiliug,  "  that  she  will 
understand  it  to  be  Miss  Craven's  affair  entirely." 

"  Her  ladyship  shall  be  made  to  understand,"  he  an- 
swered, gallantly. 

Then,  Theodora  resumed  her  flirtation,  with  her  mind  at 
ease. 

"Honor,"  whispered  Captain  Trent,  "despatch  her 
quickly,  for  Heaven's  sake  !  Just  suppose  Lady  Lawrence 
came  in  now  !  " 

"Mrs.  Payte,"  remarked  Mr.  Haughton,  coldly,  "  I  have 
no  doubt  Miss  Craven  will  come  downstairs  to  you." 

"  I  don't  want  her  downstairs,"  retorted  the  old  lady, 
with  all  her  characteristic  brusqueness  ;  "  I  want  her  here, 
because  I  have  heard  there  is  a  London  lawyer  here. 
Honor,  are  you  listening  ?  " 

"  I  am  listening,  indeed,  Mrp.  Payte,"  said  the  girl,  who 
had  not  only  gone  forward  and  clasped  the  old  lady's  hand, 
but,  because  she  saw  the  enperciiioius  glances  cast  upon  her, 
held  it  still. 

**  Very  well,  my  dear  ;  then  I  will  say  what  I  want,  and 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  205 

yon  will  help  me.  I  found,  on  my  way,  that  there  was  a 
trifling  law  business  that  ought  to  be  settled  at  once,  now 
poor  Selina  has  gone,  so  I  changed  my  mind  and  came  to 
London  to  get  it  done.  Wasn't  it  lucky  that  I  chanced  t<? 
keep  Lady  Lawrence's  address  this  morning  when  you  showed 
it  me  ?  I  have  got  rooms  near  here,  for  I  must  stay  till  it  ia 
settled.  I  know  you  will  call  upon  me — eh,  child  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  will,  Mrs.  Payte,"  said  Honor,  cordially. 

"  And  now  I  have  another  thing  for  you  to  do,"  resumed 
the  old  lady,  in  a  lower  tone.  "  I  want  to  find  some 
lawyer — a  London  man,  else  I  should  have  appealed  to  my 
learned  friend,  Mr.  Haughton — who  will  do  this  business  for 
me,  moderately  as  well  as  wisely.  I  heard  there  was  a 
lawyer  here.  Which  is  he  ?" 

"  The  gentleman  by  the  fire,"  whispered  Honor,  half 
laughing,  "  Mr.  Stafford,  of  whom  you  have  heard  us  speak 
at  Statton." 

"Oh!" 

"  Shall  I  introduce  you  ?  " 

"No,  child  ;  I  had  rather  you  arranged  the  matter  for 
me.  I  don't  like  strangers.  Tell  him  I  have  need  of  a 
solicitor's  advice  and  services,  but  that  I  am  anxious  not  to 
be  led  into  much  expense.  Ask  him  if,  under  those  cir- 
cumstances, he  would  give  me  the  benefit  of  his  help." 

Though  Mrs.  Pajte  might  possibly  be  under  the  delusion 
that  she  was  conducting  this  conversation  privately  with 
Honor,  every  word  was  distinctly  heard  by  the  other 
occupants  of  the  room,  and  this  was  made  sufficiently 
evident.  Theodora  gave  a  short,  sarcastic  laugh  ;  Mrs 
Trent  murmured  an  astonished  "  Dear  me ! "  Hervey 
muttered  a  few  words,  of  which  the  only  audible  ones  were, 
"  Ton  my  soul ! "  and  Lawrence  Haughton  turned  away 
with  an  air  of  thorough  disgust. 

Honor  glanced  shyly  towards  Mr.  Stafford.  If  he  would 
but  come  forward,  she  thought.  He  must  have  heard  just 
ae  much,  and  as  plainly,  as  the  others  had  ;  yet  he  stood,  to 
all  appearance,  engrossed  in  conversation  with  the  chaplain, 

"Ask  him,"  repeated  Mrs.  Payte,  pettishly.  "  He  will 
do  it  for  you — of  course  he  will,  because  you  are  a  possible 
heiress  of  Lady  Lawrence's." 

"  Oh,  hush  ! "  whispered  Honor.     "  He  will  he»v ." 


206  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET 

She  moved  towards  him  as  she  spoke,  but  Hervey  in- 
tercepted her. 

"  Let  that  vulgar  little  creature  do  her  own  work,  Honor," 
he  urged,  in  a  low  tone.  "  For  goodness  sake  dismiss  her !  * 

But  Honor  went  on,  and,  standing  shvly  and  earnestly 
before  Mr.  Stafford,  asked  him  if  he  would  be  so  very  kind 
as  to  promise  to  help  "her  friend"  in  dealing  with  a 
|uestion  of  law. 

"  I  scarcely  know  what  to  say,"  returned  the  lawyer, 
looking  keenly  into  the  girl's  face,  first  through,  and  then 
over,  his  glittering  spectacles.  But,  after  that  hesitation, 
he  added,  genially,  "  Yes,  I  will  do  it,  Miss  Craven." 

"Thank you,"  she  said,  with  unfeigned  gladness,  "thank 
you.  You  hear,  Mrs.  Payte  ?  Mr.  Stafford  promises." 

"  That's  a  relief,"  observed  the  old  lady,  without,  how- 
ever,  much  evidence  of  gratitude.  "  I  can  manage  now  ; 
and  you  will  come  to  see  me  ?  I  don't  ask  any  of  you,"  she 
said,  looking  round  upon  the  group  with  inimitable 
effrontery,  "  because  I  don't  feel  quite  sure  that  I  have  ever 
seen  you  before.  If  I  have,  so  great  a  change  has  taken 
place  that  it  renders  recognition  difficult.  Honor,  good-bye. 
I  will  give  you  my  address  as  soon  as  I  aoi  settled.  You 
we  sure  you  will  call  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure,  Mrs.  Payte." 

"  And  now,"  concluded  the  old  lady,  with  a  shrewd,  slow 
glance  around  her,  "  I  will  wish  you  all  good  day." 

She  waited  to  note  each  separate  reception  of  her  fare- 
well, her  dark  little  restless  face  full  of  keen  observation. 
Only  a  view  vouchsafed  any  reply.  Theodora  took  no  more 
notice  of  her  presence  than  if,  just  then,  she  had  been  a  stool 
upon  the  carpet.  Mrs.  Trent  slightly  bent  her  pompons 
head,  but  did  not  move  her  lips.  Phoebe  said,  "Good 
morning,"  as  she  might  have  uttered  a  forced  apology  which 
she  loathed  to  utter.  Captain  Trent  bowed  his  most  formal 
bow,  and  Mr.  Haughton  hurried  through  a  rough  "  Good 
day  to  you." 

The  other  gentlemen  bowed  without  a  word,  while  Honor 
walked  to  the  door  with  her  old  friend. 

"Don't  come  downstairs,"  said  Mrs.  Payte,  arresting 
her.  "  This  is  not  your  own  house,  you  know,  child,  and 
you  had  better  act  as  the  others  act.  Turu  back,  and  let 


OLD   MYDDIiLTON'S   MONEY.  207 

me  go  my  way  alone.  Make  haste,  and  you  will  ha^e  the 
fun  of  seeing  them  smooth  their  ruffled  plumes." 

At  dusk,  when  the  servants  came  in  to  light  up  the  room 
and  shut  out  the  fading  daylight,  the  spirits  of  every  one 
fose,  and  expectation  grew  keener  every  second.  This  was 
the  time  Lady  Lawrence  had  promised  to  join  them,  and 
there  was  no  fear  of  a  disappointment  to-day.  For  the 
years  of  anticipation  as  well  as  the  week's  waiting  in 
London,  they  would  all  be  rewarded  in  a  few  minutes'  time 

Every  eye  was  on  the  watch  ;  every  ear  was  strained  to 
the  uttermost  ;  for  it  would  be  hard  to  catch  the  rustling 
of  a  dress  through  these  thick  walls,  or  the  fall  of  a  step 
upon  the  velvet  carpet. 

Complacency  had  returned  now  to  every  member  of  the 
family,  and  smiles  were  ready  to  their  lips.  The  influence 
of  this  eager  and  expectant  watchfulness  had  so  wrapt 
Honor  too  that  when  at  last  the  door  was  thrown  wide 
open,  and  a  voice  announced  "  Lady  Lawrence,"  she  felt 
with  what  a  sudden  start  and  quiver  she  rose,  as  all  the 
others  rose,  to  meet  the  advancing  figure. 

There  was  not  one  of  old  Mr.  Myddelton's  possible  heirs 
who  was  not,  and  had  not  for  years  been,  familiar  with  the 
portrait  of  his  sister,  the  Anglo-Indian,  who  was  to  be  the 
arbitress  and  distributor  of  his  almost  fabulous  wealth,  and 
on  whose  return  to  England  so  many  hopes  were  centred. 
All  were  familiar  with  the  sketch  which  had  been  sent  them, 
as  well  as  with  the  girlish  portrait  at  Abbotsmoor,  and— 
built  upon  these — some  had  formed  a  fancied  portrait  of  thif 
important  dame,  in  whoso  power  it  lay  to  make  them  rich. 
Familiar  to  all  were  the  portly  figure  in  its  stiff,  plain  dress, 
and  the  smooth,  sleek  face  with  its  low  braids  of  dark  hair, 
its  sleepy  thoughtful  eyes,  its  intellectual  chin,  and  its  wide 
and  firmly-closed  lips.  Not  one  but  knew  this  picture  well, 
and  knew  that  this  was  the  Lady  Lawrence  whom  they  should 
rise  to  meet.  So  there  was  not  one  who  did  not  start  back 
in  visible  alarm  and  consternation  when  they  saw  that  it  waa 
another  and  a  very  different  figure  which  entered  after  that 
slow  announcement  of  "  Lady  Lawrence." 

A  small  figure  this,  in  a  rich  black  satin  dress,  heavily 
trimmed  with  crape,  and  wearing  an  exquisite  little  lace  cap 
ipoc  the  crisp  grey  curls  ;  a  small  old  lady,  with  keen  eyes, 


208  OLD  MVDDELTON'S  MONET. 

a  dark  restless  face,  and  lines  of  cynical  amassment  round 
her  thin,  mobile  lips. 

"My  dears,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  all — very  glad  to  see 
you  here,"  ehe  said,  advancing  towards  them,  with  her  smaH 
hands  outstretched.  "  I  have  ke.pt  you  waiting  a  long  time, 
and  for  that  I  owe  you  an  apology.  But  I  intend  to  d^fei 
it  until  after  dinner,  and  in  the  meantime  how  do  you  do, 
all  of  you?" 

If  a  thunderbolt  had  fallen  in  their  midst,  the  family  of 
old  Myddelton  would  have  been  less  surprised,  and  would 
have  stood  less  breathless.  There  seemed  no  life  or  motion 
left  among  them.  On  that  quivering,  joyous  expectation 
with  which  they  had  risen  to  preet  Lady  Lawrence,  had 
fallen,  in  one  moment,  an  awful  numbness,  a  maddening 
sense  of  utter  defeat  and  helplessness  and  despair,  and  withal 
a  bitter,  stinging  consciousness  of  what  might  have  been. 

For,  instead  of  that  imposing  figure  for  which  they  had 
looked,  there  had  entered  the  tiny  one  which,  half  an  hour 
before,  had  come  in  to  them  in  broad  black  hat  and  shabby 
dress,  to  be  disowned,  and  discarded,  and  insulted  ;  instead 
of  the  stranger  they  had  looked  for,  had  entered  the  insig- 
nificant person  who,  for  months  before  that  day,  had  lived 
among  them  as  a  poor  and  unknown  gentlewoman,  able 
only  to  afford  cottage  lodgings,  but  who,  in  this  cottage- 
home  in  their  midst,  had  had  every  opportunity  of  studying 
their  characters,  whilst  before  her  they  had  not  cared  to 
wear  disguise. 

It  was  strange  that  now,  in  her  handsome  dress,  and  in 
her  own  beautiful  rooms,  all  could  readily  detect  the  inborr 
aristocrat.  Brusque,  eccentric,  excitable,  she  might  be,  but 
still  she  carried  with  her  the  marks  (and  the  consciousness, 
too)  of  high  birth  and  lofty  position.  A  true  patrician  was 
Sir  Hervey  Lawrence's  widow  ;  a  true  gentlewoman  was 
old  My ddel  ton's  sister.  And  yet  to  think  it  should  be  in 
her  hands  that  the  fabulous  wealth  lay  for  distribution  ! 
Hers  —  the  thin,  restless  hands  of  this  little  old  lady, 
whom,  up  to  this  moment,  they  had  known  only  as  ALri. 
Edna  Payte  ! 


OLD  MYDDELTON'8  MONET.  203 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"Will  you  lend  me  your  mare  to  po  a  nuleP" 
"  No,  she  is  lame  leaping  over  a  stile." 
"  But  if  you  will  her  to  me  spare, 

You  shall  have  money  for  your  mare." 
"  Oh,  ho  !     Say  you  so  Y 

Money  will  make  the  mare  to  go." 

OLD  GLEE. 

LADY  LAWRENCE  stood  beside  the  couch  from  which  Mrs. 
Trent  had  risen.  She  had  not  attempted  to  Beat  herself, 
and  none  of  those  who  had  started  up  at  the  sound  of  her 
name  had  moved  from  the  attitudes  in  which  their  great 
surprise  had  found  them. 

"  I  see,"  she  said,  as  she  glanced  from  one  to  another  of 
her  startled  guests,  "  that  you  did  not  expect  to  meet  me 
here.  You  cannot  recognise  my  face  and  form  with  th^t 
portrait  of  Lady  Lawrence  which  you  all  know  so  well.  No 
wonder,  for  I  bought  it — a  fancy  sketch,  costing  something 
under  fifty  rupees — because  it  was  as  unlike  myself  as  any 
woman's  portrait  could  be.  I  meditated,  even  then,  this 
pious  fraud,  and  I  knew  the  portrait  would  put  you  off  the 
scent,  even  if  any  chance  speech  or  occurrence  should  after- 
wards awa-ken  suspicion.  I  think  no  suspicion  ever  has 
been  aroused,  and  no  plan  could  have  worked  better  than 
mine  has  done.  I  have  heard  from  all  of  you  such  frank 
and  undisguised  opinions  of  old  Myddelton's  sister  that  no 
doubt  could  ever  rest  in  my  mind.  I  never  questioned  your 
right  to  judge  of  her  without  knowing  her,  but  I  chose  not 
to  judge  you  until  I  did  know  you ;  a  mere  matter  of  t;isto 
either  way,  and  surely  we  all  have  a  right  to  our  own 
opinions.  I  have  gained  my  knowledge,  and  I  fear  you  are 
not  so  glad  of  having  known  me  before  this  meeting  as  I 
am  for  having  known  you.  It  was  not  your  conduct  to 
aiyself  which  was  to  be  the  test  I  sought.  I  had  a  wider 
motive,  which  you  will  soon  understand.  You  are  yery 
kind  to  have  met  me  here.  I  have  delayed  making  my  wili 
as  long  as  I  think  it  safe  to  delay  it.  I  am  an  old  woman, 
ami  you  know,  all  of  you,  how  another  old  woman,  who  had 
beeu  my  companion  for  twenty  years.  has>  died  withm  the 


210  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MOXET. 

itew  months  you  hare  known  me.  True,  I  am  heal  thy—- 
brisk and  active,  as  most  of  you  have  remarked;  but  a 
certain  old  proverb  insinuates  that  a  door  on  strong  hinges 
is  not  to  be  depended  on.  Remembering  this.  I  have 
determined  to  make  my  will  without  further  delay.  I 
shall  be  glad  of  your  presence,  for  I  do  not  intend  to  omit 
one  name  ;  so  to-morrow  morning,  Mr.  Stafford,  we  will  be 
ready,"  she  added,  with  a  merry  sparkle  in  her  eyes  ;  "for, 
you  know,  you  promised,  an  hour  ago,  to  settle  this  little 
legal  matter  wliich  brought  me  to  London." 

"  Dinner  is  served,  my  lady." 

"With  a  certain  dignity,  which  seemed  now  to  belong  to  the 
old  lady,  in  spite  of  her  restlessness,  she  paired  off  her  guests. 

Out  of  consideration  for  them,  dinner  had  been  thus  early 
and  suddenly  announced,  to  excuse  dinner-dress,  which 
neither  she  nor  the  gentlemen  of  her  household  had  assumed. 

Mrs.  Trent,  feeling  exceedingly  uncomfortable,  not  only 
mentally  but  (in  consequence  of  her  unusual  attire)  physi- 
cally too,  left  the  room  gloomily  on  the  old  chaplain's  arm. 
Jane  Haughton,  more  rigid  than  ever  in  her  mortification, 
walked  like  a  pillar  in  the  escort  of  the  cheery  lawyer. 
Theodora  Trent  tried  to  call  up  her  old  smiles  for  the  benefit 
of  the  Indian  secretary,  but  her  mind  was  too  full  of  anger — 
an  anger  which  was  wide,  and  vague,  and  directed  against 
every  one  but  herself. 

"Mr.  Haughton,"  said  Lady  Lawrence,  her  keen  eyes 
moving  from  one  to  another  of  the  group,  "I  will  trouble 
you  for  your  escort ;  and,  Captain  Trent,  you  will  doubtless 
be  proud  to  lead  both  these  young  ladies." 

There  was  a  curious  pucker  in  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
when  she  said  this,  almost  as  if  she  knew  how  unwelcome 
this  position  had  ever  been  to  Captain  Hervey. 

The  dinner  was  an  elaborate  and  ceremonious  meal,  yet 
the  old  woman's  constant  easy  chatter,  and  the  genial  and 
ek.il ful  conversation  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  house,  overcame 
the  heaviness  which  might  so  easily  have  settled  on  the 
party^  Besides  which,  there  were  one  or  two  of  old  Myddel- 
ton's  relatives  who,  in  their  pride,  made  a  strenuous  effort 
io  appear  thoroughly  at  ease  ;  and  these  efforts,  though 
painfully  evident,  were  not  without  a  partial  success. 

Alter  dinner,  Lady  Lawrence  retired  to  her  own  room, 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MOXET.  211 

and  her  guests  seemed  all  glad  to  follow  her  example.  It 
would  be  less  unpleasant  to  sit  alone  by  the  fires  ill  their 
chambers  than  to  have  to  discuss  together  the  events  of 
the  day. 

Next  morning  Lady  Lawrence  appeared  at  breakfast,  and 
again  made  the  meal  a  social  and  cheerful  one.  When  it  was 
over,  she  led  the  way  to  the  library  ;  and  neither  the  chap* 
lain,  nor  the  lawyer,  nor  the  secretary,  followed  her  now. 

"  I  bring  you  here,"  she  said,  as  her  guests  took  their  seats 
about  the  room,  and  she  herself  appropriated  a  large  chair 
which  stood  beside  a  writing-table,  "  to  hear  my  intentions 
regarding  my  will.  Mr.  Stafford  is  with  me  for  the  purpose 
of  drawing  it  up,  and  he  may  possibly  make  that  a  long 
process — lawyers  always  make  everything  lengthy  and 
elaborate — but  we  need  not  be  delayed  by  that.  I  have 
promised  Mr.  Stafford  to  give  him  notes  of  my  wishes  this 
morning.  In  three  days'  time  the  will  is  to  be  complete,  and 
he  will  read  it  to  me  here— to  me  and  to  any  of  you  who 
will  wait  to  hear  it.  I  have  promised  him  the  directions  at 
once,  not  only  because  I  want  the  fuss  over,  but  also  because 
I  should  think  it  unfair  to  keep  you  longer  in  uncertainty, 
dancing  attendance  on  my  whims.  Whims  I  call  them," 
added  the  old  lady,  with  a  shrewd  twinkle  in  her  bright  grey 
eyes  ;  "but  not  quite  idle  whims,  mind.  It  is  true  that  I 
have  practised  a  fraud  upon  ycm,  but  it  was  with  a  purpose 
solemn  enough  to  legitimatise  it.  I  have  in  trust  an  enor- 
mous sum  of  money,  besides  property  of  other  kinds,  and 
this  trust  is  not  to  be  lightly  disposed  of.  So,  for  this  fraud 
of  mine,  I  offer  no  apology  ;  those  among  you  who  know 
that  Lady  Lawrence,  coming  in  style  to  Statton,  would  have 
found  you  only  as  Mrs.  Payte,  in  her  nameless  insignificance, 
found  you,  have  nothing  for  which  to  blame  me.  Those 
who  have  one  nature  for  the  poor  and  another  for  the  rich — 
if  there  should  be  any  such  among  you — would  not  merit 
apology  ;  so,  as  I  said  before,  I  offer  none.  I  have  had 
good  opportunities  of  studying  my  kinsfolk's  dispositions, 
and  those  opportunities  have  been  of  inestimable  value  to  me. 
I  am  not  quite  a  Myddelton  at  heart,  and  I  have  a  great 
wish  that  the  family  wealth  shall  be  neither  squandered  noi 
selfishly  amassed.  I  want  a  pure  and  generous  hand  to  wipe 
away  that  uurse  which  rests  upon  old  Myddeltou's  money,  and 


211  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

I  should  like  to  think  that,  from  the  moment  I  give  it  ti^v 
the  good  which  it  shall  do  will  bring  a  light  and  blessing  ou 
it,  and  redeem  this  wasted  time  and  power  abused.  Now 
for  the  items,"  continued  the  little  old  lady,  dipping  her 
quill  into  the  ink,  and  ecrawling  a  date  upon  the  blank 
white  paper  before  her. 

"You  can  help  me  considerably  here,  for  T  am  not  quite 
inre  of  your  baptismal  names,  and  I  wish  to  remember 
everyone.  Of  course  I  naturally  should.  My  greatest 
difficulty  at  present" — as  she  spoke,  she  raised  her  pen,  and 
looked  quizzically  into  the  faces  around  her,  reading  their 
expressions  at  a  glance — "  my  greatest  difficulty  is  in  recog- 
nising you  as  the  Statton  friends  who  were  so  invariably 
hospitable  and  courteous  to  the  commonplace  old  woman  at 
East  Cottage,  and  so  kind  and  attentive  to  her  sick  com- 
panion.  Still  in  this  change  I  recognise  the  compliment 
paid  to  the  rich  old  aunt,  and  I  appreciate  it  at  its  full 
worth.  Mrs.  and  Miss  Trent,  for  instance,"  resumed  the  old 
lady,  the  cynical  lines  deepening  about  her  mouth,  "how 
could  1  at  first  be  sure  I  saw  the  ladies  from  Deergrove,  who 
have  hitherto  appeared  so  diiferently  before  me  ?  But  J 
understand  the  respect  they  pay  me,  and  that  shall  be  re- 
membered." 

"  Phoabe  Owen,  too.  Let  me  congratulate  yon,  child,  on 
looking  better  in  your  plain  dress  than  I  ever  saw  you  look 
before.  Surely  for  such  a  denial  as  foregoing  your  finery 
for  a  few  days,  you  deserve  some  recompense,  and  you  shall 
be  recompensed.  Miss  Haughton,  yesterday  evening,  for 
the  first  time,  I  saw  you  bestow  a  pleased  smile  of  greeting 
on  me.  It  was  at  the  moment  my  name  was  announced, 
and  before  you  had  seen  me.  I  was  unfeignedly  surprised 
to  detect  it,  and  though  it  should  be  the  last  as  well  the  first, 
it  deserves  to  be  remembered  in  my  will.  You,  too,  Mr. 
Haughton,  were  just  then  waiting  with  a  smile  for  Lady 
Lawrence.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  it,  and  it  made  me  forget 
how  few  smiles  you  had,  half  an  hour  before,  bestowed  on 
the  little  old  woman  who  had  intruded  into  your  presence 
here.  You  are  a  clever  man,  Lawrence  Haughton,  very 
clever — I  have  not  lived  near  you  so  long  without  discover, 
ing  that — and  I  know  that  the  money  I  leave  you  will  noi 
be  frittered  away  in  any  rash,  Quixotic  manner.  As  for  you, 


OLD  MYDD  ELTON'S  MONEY.  218 

Hervey  Trent,  you  must  of  course  be  remembered  too,  for 
the  part  you  play  so  well  is  an  expensive  part.     'Pyramui 
is  a  sweet-faced  man,  a  proper  man  as  one  shall  see  in 
Bummer's  day — a  most  gentlemanlike  man  ;  therefore  you 
play  well  the  part  of  Pyramus/     As  for  you,  Honor  Craven 
— the  old  lady's  eyes  swept  over  the  girl  with  the  greatest 
unconcern — "you  have  voluntarily  forfeited  your  place  in 
Lady  Lawrence's  will,  as  you  are  perfectly  aware.     Now,  if 
you  will  excuse  me  for  ten  minutes,  I  will  write  my  direc- 
tions for  Mr.  Stafford." 

It  was  a  strange  and  puzzled  silence  which  held  the  group 
for  those  ten  minutes — a  silence  freighted  with  anxious 
thought,  and  broken  only  by  the  crackling  sound  of  Lady 
Lawrence's  pen  upon  the  thick  white  paper.  Honor  stood 
looking  out  into  the  chilly  garden,  conscious  of  no  feeling 
beyond  her  great  astonishment.  Again  and  again,  as 
through  the  night  before,  she  was  going  back  to  those  days 
she  had  spent  at  East  Cottage,  wondering  why  she  had 
never  suspected  any  cause  for  Mrs.  Payte's  always  inexpli- 
cable interest  in  old  Myddelton's  family. 

Lawrence  Haughton  took  down  a  book  and  buried  himself 
in  its  pages,  his  face  as  inscrutable  as  was  the  lace  of  Lady 
Lawrence  while  she  wrote.  His  sister  watched  him  with  an 
anxiety  which,  for  her,  was  almost  eager. 

Captain  Trent,  leaning  back  in  his  chair  with  an  attempt 
at  his  characteristic  listlessiness,  looked  over — with  the 
greatest  unconcern  for  its  contents — a  large  album,  which 
stood  on  an  ebony  stand  near  him. 

Mrs.  Trent  had  brought  in  her  wools,  and  was  knitting 
busily  ;  but  in  her  face  there  was  a  curious,  restless  watch- 
fulness, only  equalled  by  that  which  glittered  in  Theodora's 
eyes  as,  every  two  or  three  seconds,  she  raised  them  quickly 
and  surreptitiously,  and  fixed  them  upon  the  engrossed  face 
of  the  old  lady. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  thoughts  of  any 
of  the  group,  because  over  all  still  lay  the  shadow  of  selfish 
anticipation.  So  much  depended  on  the  words  wl.ich  that 
quill  was  forming  !  Until  they  knew  them,  how  con  Id  they 
judge  of  Lady  Lawrence,  or  how  could  they  form,  an  opinion 
as  to  tfceir  own  parts  in  the  past  or  future  ? 

The  Ua  minutes  had  stretched  themselves  to  twentv, 


214  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

when  Lady  Lawrence  put  down  her  pen,  and  raised  her 
head  with  a  glance  which  took  in  the  whole  room. 

"  That  is  finished,"  she  said,  in  the  quick  tones  which 
reminded  them  of  Mrs.  Payte.  "  Now  let  me  read  you  my 
bequests." 

Her  mot:ons  were  as  rapid  as  her  words,  when  phe  took 
up,  one  after  another,  the  sheets  of  paper,  which  she  had 
covered  only  on  one  side. 

"  To  Mrs.  Isabella  Trent,  of  Deergrove — that  nnme  is  right, 
I  know — I  leave  one  thousand  pounds,  to  defray  the  expenses 
of  a  short  and  fashionable  mourning  for  old  Myddelton's 
Bister.  Though  I  do  not  suppose  she  will  ever  again  be 
tempted  to  lay  aside  her  naturally  expensive  habits,  I  hope 
this  sum  may  be  sufficient  for  the  purpose.  To  her  daughter, 
Theodora  My  ddelton  Trent — is  that  name  correctly  entered  ?" 

"  Quite  correctly,"  answered  Theodora,  in  a  faint,  anxious 
Toice. 

" — I  leave  one  thousand  pounds,  in  acknowledgment  of 
the  delicate  attention  she  paid  me  in  being  here  first  to  await 
me.  To  Phoebe  Myddelton  Owen'' — the  busy  voice  paused 
after  each  name,  waiting  for  its  corroboration,  then  con- 
tinued, as  if  uninterrupted — "  1  also  bequeath  one  thousand 
Vounds.  Her  wardrobe  is  at  present  an  anxiety  to  her,  and 
^his  sum  will  add  fifty  pounds  a  year  to  her  allowance,  and 
Bave  her,  perhaps,  from  future  debt  or  trouble.  To  Jane 
Myddelton  Haughton  I  leave  the  same  sum,  knowing  it  will 
be  cautiously  and  scrupulously  garnered  ;  and  feeling  that — 
to  be  garnered  so — one  thousand  pounds  is  as  useful  as  one 
hundred  thousand.  To  her  brother,  Lawrence  Myddelton 
Haughton,  I  bequeath  two  thousand  pounds,  with  which  he 
can  speculate  (according  to  a  fancy  he  has)  for — his  clients' 
benefit." 

A  flame  of  wrath  rose  in  Lawrence  Haughton's  cheeks, 
but  no  one  connected  it  with  anything  beyond  the  natural 
anger  excited  by  this  legacy. 

"  To  Hervey  Myddelton  Trent,"  continued  Lady  Law- 
rence, unmoved,  "  I  leave  the  same  sum.  To  one  who  has 
been  so  confident  of  a  large  fortune,  I  know  it  will  appear 
trifling  ;  but  it  may  possibly  supply  him  with  cigars  for  the 
term  of  his  natural  life — and  a  good  cigar,  he  ouue  told  me, 
wu«i  the  essence  of  comfort." 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S   MONEY.  215 

**  I  think  I  have  remembered  you  all,  save  Honor  Craven, 
and  I  decline,  for  reasons  of  "my  own,  to  accept  her  as  a 
legatee.  There  are  other  bequests  here,"  continued  the  old 
lady,  glancing  down  one  of  the  well-covered  pages,  "  but 
they  will  not  interest  you,  referring  as  they  do  only  to  those 
who  have  served  me  faithfully.  As  to  the  bulk  of  my 
property,  and  the  whole  of  old  Myddelton's  money — for 
these  legacies  are  to  be  paid  from  my  own  jointure — I  have 
now  to  speak  of  that.  As  you  are  aware,  my  brother's 
wealth  has  accumulated  to  an  almost  fabulous  extent ;  and 
now  the  fortune,  destined  for  the  heir  I  choose,  amounts  to 
more  than  a  million  of  money,  besides  other  property.  You 
may  judge,  then,  how  anxious  I  have  been  to  return  to 
England  in  time  to  choose  my  heir,  and  how  anxious  too 
that  I  might  meet  with  one  in  whose  hands  this  wealth 
would  be — well,  would  be  safe,  and  I  can  scarcely  say  more 
than  that.  I  knew  that  two  ot  my  relatives  were  young 
men,  and  I  felt  that  my  choice  would  lie  between  these  two. 
I  would  choose  a  man  of  honest  thought — so  I  determined 
— a  man  of  blameless  life  and  earnest  purpose  ;  simple, 
manly,  natural ;  one  who  knew  the  good  that  could  be  done 
with  such  vast  wealth,  and  would  be  brave  and  earnest  to 
do  it.  So  the  curse  shall  be  removed,  I  said,  and  a  blessing 
fall  upon  the  money  which  I  hold.  And  if  both  are  generous, 
upright  men,  the  money  shall  be  shared. 

"Lawrence  Haughton  and  Hervey  Trent,  you  know 
whether  I  found  you  such  men  as  I  have  described.  Neither 
of  you  has  any  idea  of  the  true  value  of  money — its  highest, 
noblest  use,  I  mean — or  the  great  responsibility  it  brings. 
One  of  you  \wuld  gave  and  amass  it  as  my  brother  did, 
serving  his  own  ends  the  while,  and  using  it  only  for  his 
own  purposes  ;  the  other  would  calmly  smile  and  sleep,  and 
let  it  all  melt  through  his  idle  fingers.  One  would  tyrannise 
over  the  number  of  hirelings  and  dependents  which  such  a 
position  vonld  bring  ;  the  other  would  forget  their  very 
existence^  except  as  ministrators  to  his  ease  and  comfort. 
Was  it  strauge  that,  seeing  this,  I  should  feel  that  I  must  look 
around  once  more,  and  choose  an  heiress  instead  of  an  heir  ? 

"  I  did  look  around,  thoughtfully  and  anxiously,  among 
iny  women  relatives.  I  saw  who  would  devote  it  to  her- 
self, and  1  saw  to  wiiom  another  would  give  it,  I  saw  who 


fclfr  OLD  MYDDELTON'8  MONEY. 

knew  no  more  than  a  baby  that  money  was  not  all  coined  to 
be  spent  on  women's  dress,  and  I  saw  who  would  grind  her 
tenants  and  servants,  whatever  number  she  might  have. 
I  saw  who  was  ready  to  pour  into  any  sfrange  ear  com- 
plaints of  those  who  made  her  home,  and  1  did  not  wish 
to  feel  that,  later  on,  just  such  complaints  would  be  as 
naturally  uttered  of  myself ;  and  I  saw  who  treated  her 
mother  almost  as  her  slave,  and  I  had  no  wish  to  choose  one 
who  presently  should  treat  me  so. 

"  But  I  saw  more  " — the  old  lady's  eyes,  which  had  been 
bent  upon  the  desk,  were  raised  here,  and  everyone  could 
.see  liow  warm  and  earnest  they  had  grown — "  I  saw  more, 
and  again  I  need  not  particularise.  Those  whom  these  caps 
fit  will  feel  them  just  the  same  whether  I  distribute  them 
or  not.  I  saw  the  dying  bed  of  my  old  friend  brightened 
by  one  girl  who  had  chosen  to  love  as  in  our  seeming 
poverty,  and  I  felt  that  I  should  like  my  dying  bed — I  am 
an  old  woman,  and  such  thoughts  come  naturally  now — to 
be  brightened  just  so  ;  with  the  same  gentle  and  unweary* 
ing  hands,  by  the  same  sweet  and  loving  voice,  by  the  same 
good  and  pitiful  face.  I  saw  one  who  was  guided  by  simple 
duty,  and  that  love  which  is  the  truest  love  of  all,  in  that  it 
holds  no  thought  of  self.  I  tried  her  in  many  ways  ;  day 
ufter  day  I  made  fresh  trial  of  her  patience,  and  her  pity, 
and  her  love  ;  and  she  came  bravely  and  brightly  through 
all.  Day  after  day  I  made  fresh  trial  of  you,  I  would  be 
equal  and  unprejudiced  to  the  end.  Did  I  not  test  you  all 
even  at  the  very  last,  witn  a  faint  hope  of  finding  you  more 
kind  and  courteous  here.  You  know  with  what  guccess  I 
made  that  last  trial.  This" — the  little  old  lady  laid  hej 
right  hand  emphatically  on  the  last  sheet  of  writing — "  em- 
powers Mr.  Stafford  to  will  all  my  own  property,  miens  the 
legacies  aforesaid,  with  old  Myddelton's  money  entire,  to 
Honor  Myddelton  Craven." 

"  No — oh,  no — please." 

"Old  Myddelton's  money,"  repeated  the  old  lady,  un- 
heeding Honor's  pleading  tone,  "  I  bequeath  entire  to 
Honor  Myddelton  Craven." 

A  long  and  terrible  silence  fell  upon  the  room  after  these 
words.  Honor's  face  was  hidden  in  her  hands  ;  over  the 
b  a  different  passion  seemed  to  pass  with  every  second. 


OLD  MTDDELTON'S  MONEY.  217 

"  Honor  knew  the  deception,  I  am  sure.  Honor  has  un- 
derstood it  all  along." 

The  words  burst  from  Theodora's  lips  in  a  perfect  torrent 
of  wrath.  Lady  Lawrence's  eyes  fixed  themselves  slowly, 
and  rather  amusedly,  upon  her. 

"  Do  not  excite  yourself  unnecessarily,  Miss  Trent  ;  it 
does  not  become  you.  Unfortunately  Honor  Craven's  in- 
telligence in  this  matter  was  no  keener  than  your  own  ; 
and  where  yours,  and  your  mother's,  and  Mr.  Haughton's 
were  at  fault,  are  you  surprised  that  Honor's  should  be  ? 
There,  that  is  all  I  need  prepare  for  Mr.  Stafford.  Those 
who  wish  to  hear  the  will  read  will  stay  with  me  ;  to  those 
who  do  not,  if  there  be  any,  I  suppose  I  must  say  farewell — 
to  all  save,  at  least,  Honor.  She  will,  I  hope,  stay  with 
the  solitary  old  woman,  who  needs  her  now  and  here,  as 
eorely  as  she  needed  her  in  that  cottage  where  she  first  saw 
her.  Possibly  we  may  all  meet  again.  When  we  do,  I  hope 
that  old  time  will  be  forgotten." 

No  need  to  say  that  Mr.  Stafford  was  never  called  upon 
to  read  his  client's  will. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

As  she  goes  all  hearts  do  duty 

Unto  her  beauty ; 
And  enamoured,  do  wish — so  they  might 

But  enjoy  such  a  sight — 
That  they  still  were  to  run  by  her  side, 
Through  swords,  through  seas,  whither  she  would  ride. 
*  ******* 

Have  you  seen  but  a  bright  lily  grow" 
Before  rude  hands  have  touched  it? 
Have  you  marked  but  the  fall  of  the  snow 

Before  the  soil  hath  smutched  it  ? 
Have  you  felt  the  wool  of  the  beaver, 

Or  swan's  down  ever  ? 
Or  have  smelt  i'  the  bud  of  the  briar, 

Or  the  nard  in  the  fire  P 
Or  have  tasted  the  bag  of  the  bee? 
Oh,  so  white !    Oh,  so  soft !    Oh,  so  sweet  is  she  ? 

THE  entrance  into  society  of  the  Anglo-Indian  millionaire 
and  her  adopted  heiress  was  one  of  the  grand  events  of  that 


218  OLD  MYDDELTOK'8  MONEY. 

year,  when,  after  a  few  months'  travel  on  the  Continent,  the 
splendid  mansion  in  Kensington  was  thrown  open  to  the 
London  world,  beautified  to  suit  those  fair  spring  days,  but 
retaining  all  its  old  substantial  pomp  and  heavy°splendour 
The  old  lady's  shrewdness  and  eccentricities  had  almost 
as  much  power  as  had  her  marvellous  wealth,to  make  her  one 
marked  out  in  any  crowd  ;  and  Honor's  beauty,  with  that 
nameless  charm  of  varying  moods  and  girlish  piquancy, 
made  her,  even  independent  of  her  vast  expectations,  the 
atar  of  the  season. 

Although  her  introduction  into  the  highest  society  of 
Europe  had  been  so  sudden,  nothing  in  the  girl's  manner 
betrayed  this.     Just  as  much  at  her  ease  was  Honor,  when 
presented  at  Court,  as  she  used  to  be  when  she  performed 
the  imaginary  ceremony  in  Phcebe's  bed-room,  stooping  to 
make  her  dress  very  long,  and  bringing  down  on  her  devoted 
head  the  "  How  ridiculous  !  "  evolved  from  Phoebe's  common 
•enpe.    The  freshness  of  her  enjoyment,  the  thoughtfulness 
that  ran  below  her  brightest  speeches,  the  true  self-forget- 
fulness,  the  total  abstinence  of  vanity   or  affectation,  the 
perfect  impossibility  of  either  spiteful  or  inane  speeches, 
and,  perhaps,  above  all,  her  winning,  watchful  care  of  the 
old  lady,  her  bright,  exhaustless  patience,  and  her  constant 
tender  remembrance  of  her,  were  an  irresistible  charm  about 
the  girl,  and  it  was  little  wonder  that  hands  and  hearts  were 
at  her  service  everywhere.   Little  wonder  that  introductions 
were  sought  as  precious  boons,  and  that,  in  the  crowd  which 
waited  for  her  smiles,  men  of  the  noblest  name  and  highest 
rank — with  those  who  had  won  their  country's  honour^  too, 
or  won  themselves  a  fair,  undying  lame— should  struggle 
eagerly. 

_  It  was  in  a  strange  spirit  that  Honor  received  this  adula- 
tion ;  sometimes  to  all  appearance  unconscious  of  it;  some- 
times brightly  turning  it  aside  ;  sometimes  gently,  and 
almost  pleadingly,  resisting  it;  never  proud  of  it;  never 
meeting  it  willingly,  and  never,  above  all,  encouraging  it. 

44  Honor,"  remarked  Lady  Lawrence  one  day— it  waa 
towards  the  close  of  the  season,  and  the  old  lady,  after  one 
of  her  crowded  receptions,  threw  herself  on  a  couch  in  her 
dressing-room,  and  looked  up  quizzically  at  Honor,  who  had 
come  in,  pieiiy  bejoud  words,  in  her  dressiug-robe  of 


OLD  MYDDELTON'F   MONET.  219 

qnilted  satin,  with  her  bright  brown  hair  let  down,  and 
curling  heavily  and  richly  at  the  ends — "  Honor,  do  you 
regret  my  decision  for  to-night  ?  " 

"  Kegret  it !  "  echoed  Honor,  as  she  sat  beside  the  old 
lady,  and  leaned  her  head  against  the  arm  of  the  couch,  with 
a  pleasant  brightness  in  her  eyes,  "  I  will  not  say  I  am  quite 
certain,  auntie,  but  I  think  that,  even  if  you  had  left  the 
choice  with  me  to-night,  I  should  have  stayed  at  home.  It 
is  after  midnight  now,  and  we  have  had  a  day  of  ceaseless 
excitement.  No,  I  am  really  glad  we  did  not  go  to  the 
Duchess's  ball  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,  Honor.  I  know  how  thoroughly  you  would 
have  enjoyed  it." 

"  I  know  I  should,"  eaid  Honor,  her  lips  as  well  as  her 
eyes  smiling  now  ;  "  but  I  am  enjoying  myself  here  too. 
"What  a  rare  thing  it  is  for  us  to  have  any  time  to  sit  alone 
together  ! " 

"  Very  rare  " — the  old  lady's  voice  was  low  and  grave,  but 
her  eyes  filled  with  a  great  tenderness,  as  she  put  out  one  hand 
and  laid  it  caressingly  on  the  girl's  head — "  so  rare  that  it 
is  of  great  value  to  me,  my  dear.  Old  people  need  some 
pauses  in  the  busy  march  when  the  evening  time  is  come. 
The  present  is  not  everything  to  them,  Honor,  when  the 
great  future  is  EO  near." 

Without  a  word  Honor  took  the  little  caressing  hand 
within  hers,  and  held  it  fondly. 

"  If  I  saw  that  your  heart  rested  only  in  those  gaieties  and 
excitements  which  I  see  that  you  pleasantly  enjoy,  I  woulc1 
not  take  you  away,  my  darling,  even  as  I  have  done  to 
night ;  but  I  know  it  is  not  so.  Your  love  for  your  old 
aunt  is  no  hollow  love.  I  lean  upon  it — ah,  my  dear,  you 
hardly  know  with  what  firm  and  pleasant  trust  I  lean  upon 
it.  As  little  as  you  could  understand,  in  your  simple  truth- 
fulness, how  severely  I  was  making  trial  of  you  last  year,  so 
little  can  you  guess  what  your  love  was  to  ine  when  it  came 
so  richly  and  lavishly  in  my  lonely  old  age." 

"  And  you,"  said  Honor,  "  can  never  guess,  auntie,  what 
your  love  has  been  to  me,  who  never  knew  till  now  what  a 
mother's  love  was  like.  Ah  !  no  ;  you  can  never  guess." 

"  Honor  " — there  had  been  a  pause  after  the  girl's  low 
aud  Ladj  Lawien.ce  broke  it  now  with  a  n«w  tone  oi 


220  OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

anxiety  in  her  voice — "  Honor,  one  thing  has  struck  me 
often  since  we  have  lived  together,  and  to-night  I  am  going 
to  speak  of  it  for  the  first  time.  I  can  keep  no  secret  from 
you,  my  child  ;  not  even  this  thought  of  mine,  for  I  know 
it  can  never  obtrude  itself  as  a  barrier  between  my  child 
and  me.  I  told  you  I  felt  weary  to-night,  and  that  it  was 
natural  for  an  old  woman  to  do  so.  It  is  that  feeling — for 
it  comes  often,  dear,  and  will  not  be  ignored — which  brings 
me  sometimes  a  great  anxiety  for  you.  Only  sometimes, 
for  generally  I  can  feel  strong  and  content,  knowing  in 
whose  care  you  will  always  be  ;  but  sometimes,  as  I  said,  and 
to-night  is  one  of  those  times.  Of  course  I  could  not  have 
this  anxiety  if  I  knew  I  should  leave  you  in  a  husband's 
care,  but  I  have  noticed  that  such  a  thought  as  choosing 
among  those  who  sue  for  your  hand  seems  as  far  removed 
from  you  as  if  you  were  a  young  wife  enjoying  her  first 
triumph,  or  even  as  if  you  had  told  your  seventy  years,  as  I 
have.  Honor,  tell  me  why  this  is  so  ?  " 

The  girl's  eyes  had  softened  to  a  dreamy  sadness,  and  the 
smile  had  died  utterly  from  her  lips.  "  I — I  cannot  care 
for  them,"  she  faltered  ;  "  not  for  one,  I  mean,  more  than 
others.  That  is  my  only  reason,  auntie." 

"  The  only  one  ?  "  The  old  voice  faltered  like  the  young 
one  ;  the  dim  eyes  on  the  pillows  had  grown  as  wistful  as 
had  those  radiant  ones  beside  them.  "  Is  that  the  only 
reason,  Honor  ?  Do  not  wonder  at  my  doubting  it — do  not 
be  hurt  by  my  suspicion.  If  I  did  not  know  you  so  well,  I 
might  read  nothing  in  your  eyes  and  tones  ;  but  I  do  know 
you  well,  my  dear,  and  I  can  see  that  the  reason  why  no  one, 
in  this  new  life  of  yours,  has  won  this  heart  \\hich  is  so 
true,  and  so  worth  winning,  is  because  they  were  too  late. 
Honor,  for  months  we  have  been  separated  trom  that  old  life 
of  yours,  but  we  will  bridge  the  separation  over,  if  it  would 
give  you  happiness.  For  whom,  in  that  old  home,  does 
your  heart  yearn  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Phoebe,"  replied  Honor,  a  little 
amusement  in  her  low  tones. 

"  Phoebe ! "  The  exclamation  was  scornful,  truly,  but 
the  note  of  relief  was  audible.  "  Only  Phoebe  Owen  ?  We 
will  manage  that  some  day  ;  but  you  know,  as  well  as  I  do, 
that  Phcebe  would  rathjer  stay  with  Lawrence  Haughtoo 


OLD  MYDDELTO.N'S   MONEY.  221 

than  comb  to  you.     IB  there  no  one  else  you    long  to 


see 


v " 


;No,"  said  Honor,  speaking  very  readily  when  she 
detected  the  pain  in  the  question. 

"  That  is  well  ;  but  I  think  that  I  never  had  any  real 
fear,  Honor.  You  would  never  wed  with  either  Lawrence 
Haughton  or  Hervey  Trent  ?  " 

"  Never,"  said  the  girl,  in  simple  and  surprised  dissent. 

A  long  pause,  and  the  words  the  old  lady  next  uttered 
were  in  a  different  tone. 

"  Honor,  how  many  times,  during  the  season,  have  we  met 
Royden  Keith,  of  Westleigh  Towers  ?  Very  few  times,  eh  ?  " 

"  Very  few." 

The  answer  was  so  quiet  and  so  easy  that  there  seemed 
DO  cause  for  Lady  Lawrence's  swift  glance  into  the  face 
beside  her. 

"  Very  few,  as  you  say.  How  many  times  has  he  been 
here  ?  " 

"  Not  once,  auntie." 

The  answer  was  so  slow  and  calm  that  there  seemed  less 
reason  still  for  the  half-smile. 

"  Not  once,  as  you  say,  Honor.  When  I  was  a  poor  in- 
significant old  gentlewoman,  sharp  and  shabby,  Royden 
Keith  always  behaved  to  me  as  a  courteous  gentleman  ;  he 
was  always  attentive  and  generous,  thoughtful  both  for  me 
and  for  my  sick  friend,  and  kind  to  both.  When  we  lived 
in  cottage  lodgings,  he  spared  no  trouble  to  himself  if  he 
could  serve  us  ;  seeing  no  shame  in  being  the  friend  of  such 
as  we  seemed  then  ;  bravely  facing  ridicule  to  make  our 
lives  a  little  less  cramped  and  dull  than  he  fancied  they 
might  be.  And  so  patient  and  pleasant  was  ho  always 

with Ah,  my  darling,  my  little  darling,  tears  at  last ! 

Yes,  lay  your  head  here — think  it  your  mother's  breast,  my 
child,  fancy  these  your  mother's  arms  about  you,  and 
whisper  it  to  me  presently — only  presently.  I  know  so 
much  that  it  will  not  take  you  long  to  tell.  Dear,  could  I 
have  lived  with  you  so  long,  and  so  closely  taken  you  into 
my  heart,  if  my  love  could  not  teach  me  that  secret  ?  No, 
do  not  look  into  my  face  just  yet.  I — I  will  wait  a  little. 
It  has  brought  back  so  many  thoughts  from  that  far  past ; 
und— aud  Uoia  tlie  iuture,  dear,  which  may  be  so  near. 


222  OLD   MYDDELTON'S   MONEY. 

Honor,  oar  separation  will  be  hard  to  bear,  but  I  think  itf 
chief  terror  will  be  gone  when  I  can  leave  you  in  his  strong 
and  tender  care.  My  darling,  why  those  anguished  eyes  ? 
Ah,  we  will  let  the  story  rest  to-night,  and  to-morrow  all 
will  be  clear  and  bright  before  us  once  again." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike. 

POPS. 

LADY  LAWRENCE  and  Honor  spent  the  autumn  of  that  year 
in  Italy.  The  old  lady's  health  was  fading  slowly,  and  so 
they  went.  It  was  no  pain  to  either  to  leave  England.  Each 
took  her  truest  friend,  and  the  absence  involved  no  sad  and 
bitter  parting. 

Since  Honor  had  told  her  life's  one  secret  to  this  warm, 
motherly  friend,  the  two  had  been,  if  possible,  drawn  more 
closely  together.  To  the  old  lady's  comforting  voice  there 
had  come  a  tone  of  cheering  hopefulness  too  ;  and  this 
hopefulness,  ever  since,  had  moved  her  on  this  subject. 

"  I  have  no  fear,"  she  said.  "  You  did  wrong  ever  to 
credit  as  his  such  absurd  words,  Honor.  I  heard  Theodora 
Trent  tell  you,  but  I  never  thought  you  could  believe  them, 
because  I  could  not  do  so  myself.  But  I  think  that  will  all 
be  made  clear  in  good  time.  You  are  true  and  steadfast, 
and  there  is  time." 

Such  words  as  these  she  would  say  whenever — as  only  at 
rare  intervals — they  would  talk  of  Royden  ;  and  such  words 
she  had  been  saying  on  that  last  day,  when  the  sun  glanced 
brightly  on  the  waters  of  the  Adriatic,  and  the  fair  Southern 
morning  seemed  to  bring  health  and  vigour  with  it. 

"  Honor,  I  could  have  left  you  in  his  care  without  one 
fear  or  doubt ;  but  it  is  not  to  be.  Still,  darling,  wait  and 
hope.  If  you  can  never  give  your  love  elsewhere,  I  know 
that  you  will  never  wed  elsewhere.  Be  brave  and  true,  my 
dear,  in  either  life.  Remember  the  great  responsibility  you 
hold,  and,  above  all,  remember  Who  alone  can  help  aud 
guide  you." 

This  was  the  last  time  Lady  Lawrence  mentioned  her 


OLD  MYDDELTON:S  MONEY.  223 

wealth,  or  Hoyden's  name ;  and  Honor  never  forgot  the 
words. 

Before  nightfall  on  that  day  Honor  was  alone. 

Both  Mr.  Stafford  and  Lady  Lawrence's  chapla;n  were  ir 
attendance  upon  her  when  she  died,  and  they — with  the 
courier  and  the  servants— took  every  responsibility  and 
trouble  from  Honor,  yet  that  knowledge  did  not  prevent 
Lawrence  Haughton  hurrying  over  to  Italy  the  very  hoir 
in  which'  the  news  of  Lady  Lawrence's  death  was  receiven 
in  England.  For  the  first  few  minutes,  Honor's  surprise  at 
seeing  him  was  a  pleasant  surprise,  for  she  was  in  a  strange 
country,  in  grief,  and  this  was  a  face  from  her  old  home  ; 
but  after  that  his  presence  only  added  every  hour  more  and 
more  heavily  to  her  grief. 

His  old  unwearying  pursuit  of  her  had  been  as  nothing 
compared  with  this  new  eager  courtship,  which  haras-ed 
and  distressed,  and,  even  in  all  her  heartfelt  grief,  angered 
her  at  last  beyond  all  words.  His  old  pleas  were  more 
persistently  urged,  and  his  old  efforts  were  redoubled.  She 
was  his  old  love,  the  only  otfe  for  whom  his  hard  and  selfish 
heart  had  ever  yearned.  She  was  even  more  beautiful  now 
than  she  had  been  in  those  old  days,  and  she  was  mar- 
vellously rich — "  the  richest  girl  in  England,"  as  he  assured 
himself  with  unctuous  reiteration — and  so  to  win  her — to 
win  her,  while  other  men  tried  so  hard  in  vain — he  could 
count  no  effort — poor  Honor  ! — too  mean  or  base. 

So  it  was  that,  upon  that  journey  home,  when  he  was,  as 
Mr.  Stafford  and  the  old  clergyman  supposed,  travelling 
with  them  to  be  a  comfort  to  his  cousin,  he  struck  the  blow 
which  his  suspicion  and  his  jealousy  had  threatened  long. 

It  was  but  seldom  that  Honor  allowed  herself  to  be  alone 
with  him,  so  weary  was  she  of  the  old  plea,  but  on  this  day  she 
could  not  help  it.  He  had  urged  his  suit,  of  course  (what 
opportunity  did  he  ever  let  slip?),  but  he  had  been  slow  and 
cautious,  evidently  determined  not  to  allow  himself  to  lose 
the  command  over  his  temper.  Most  firmly,  yet  very  quietly 
and  wearily,  Honor  had  answered  him  ;  and  when  at  last 
ehe  rose  to  leave  the  room,  the  indecision  which  had  caused 
his  mind  to  hesitate  over  this  last  blow  all  vanished,  and 
whatever  wound  his  words  could  give  was  to  be  given  now. 

Honor  Bteod  and  Jictened,  her  eyes  fixed  wonder ingly 


224  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

npon  his  face,  but  before  he  had  finished,  her  cheeks  nacl 
grown  as  white  as  death. 

"  Why  do  you  say  this  to  me  ?"  she  asked,  slowly,  "whj 
do  yon  come  to  me  to  talk  of  Royden  Keith  ?" 

"  I  hardly  know,"  he  answered,  with  an  absurd  assumption 
of  ignorance,  "  except  that  you  used  to  be  curious  about 
him.  I  thought  you  would  be  glad  to  know  who  he  was." 

"  I  did  know  who  he  was,"  she  said  ;  "  I  have  known  Mr. 
Keith,  of  "Westleigh  Towers,  for  a  long  time." 

Lawrence  Haughton  turned  aside  his  head  with  a 
momentary  laugh. 

"  If  you  felt  sure,  Honor,  you  would  hardly  utter  the 
assertion  BO  eagerly  ;  and  you  really  believe,  as  strongly  as 
I  do,  that  Royden  Keith  and  Gabriel  Myddelton  are  one." 

"  I  do  not ! "  she  cried.  "  I  never  could  " But  there 

the  words  broke  off,  and  the  flash  died  suddenly  out  of  her 
angry  eyes. 

"  You  mistake  your  own  feelings,"  said  Mr.  Haughton, 
in  his  slow,  convincing  tones,  "  and  I  have  no  need  to  glean 
proofs  for  you." 

"  Proofs  ! "  she  echoed,  "  you  spoke  of  proofs  before,  when 
you  hinted  at  some  sin  you  would  lay  to  his  charge.  If  you 
have  any  to  lay  now,  bring  your  proofs.  You  have  none — 
of  course  you  have  not — nor  will  you  ever  have  ;  but  I  ask, 
how  dare  you  assert  a  gentleman  to  be  a  criminal  from  only 
your  own  base,  suspicious  convictions  ?  How  dare  you 
do  it  to  me  ?  These  are  calumnies  built  on  your  own  mean 
jealousy  and  hatred  of  one  who  never  injured  you  !  Ge 
from  this  room,  Lawrence  ;  I  am  mistress  here." 

He  smiled  a  little — a  smile  of  bland  consideration  for 
her  youth  and  excusable  petulance— a  smile  of  pity  for  an 
apparent  infatuation — a  smile  which  brought  the  passionate 
crimson  into  her  white  cheeks. 

There  was  a  pau?e  then,  while  she  tried  to  regain  her 
voice  and  ease,  and  while  he,  in  cool  defiance  of  her  order, 
stood  gazing  down  upon  her,  with  this  maddening  smile 
Btill  hovering  on  his  lips. 

"You  take  this  information  oddly,  Honor,"  he  said,  at 
last,  "  as  if  you  had  a  most  particular  interest  in  Gabriel 
Myddelton.  It  would  be  a  pity  if  you  had,  because  he  is  a 
mamed  man." 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  225 

"  Can  cousins  take  no  interest  in  each  other  if  they  are 
married  ?  " 

Lawrence,  in  all  his  spleen  and  selfishness,  started  at 
these  words.  The  tone  in  which  they  were  uttered  was  so 
heavy  with  misery  that  the  feigned  lightness  was  almost 
terrible. 

"  What  is  it,  Honor  ?"  he  said,  advancing  towards  her  in 
sudden  fear.  "  Do  you  feel  ill  ?  " 

"III? — no!  Have  you — did  you  say — proofs  of  your 
last  assertion  ?  " 

"  No.    No  proofs  yet,  but  I  shall  have  them." 

"Shall  have  them  !"  she  echoed,  proully.  "Then  per- 
haps your  words  may  have  some  weight.  Why  did  you 
not  procure  them  first  ?  Will  not  one  blow  satisfy  you,  but 
you  must  wound  and  wound,  to  show  what  pain  can  be  ?  " 

"  Honor,  you  ought  to  be  grateful  to  me  for  pointing  out 
to  you  where  treachery  " 

But  she  had  left  him  then,  and  the  words  were  useless. 

"  I  shall  never  mention  it  to  her  again,"  he  muttered, 
angry  with  her,  but  doubly  angry  with  himself,  "until  I 
can  bring  in  my  hand  the  evidences  of  his  guilt.  How 
strangely  she  took  it  all !  Had  she  expected  me  to  tell  her 
that  he  was  a  married  man  ?  As  for  his  identity  with  the 
murderer  of  old  Myddelton,  that  hardly  astonished  her ; 
she  will  believe  it  presently,  though  she  is  so  set  against  it 
now.  It  was  the  last  news  which  bore  her  down  most,  and 
yet  somehow  it  struck  me  that  she  was  not  unprepared  for 
it.  I  wonder  how  that  could  be.  But  my  plan  must  work 
*t  last,  and  Honor  shall  be  made  to  listen  to  me." 

******* 

It  WIB  the  nk'ht  of  Miss  Craven's  return  to  England,  and 
the  mansion  in  Kensington  wag  lighted,  and  warmed,  and 
carefully  prepared  for  her,  yet  it  was  but  a  sad  and  solitary 
home-coming  after  all.  In  every  room,  and  through  every 
minute  of  that  long  evening,  Honor  missed  the  step,  and 
voice,  and  smile  of  the  old  lady  whom  she  had  learned  to  love 
BO  well,  and  who  had  given  to  her  so  generous  and  so  trusting 
an  affection.  True,  every  comfort  and  luxury  awaited  her, 
and  servants  came  and  went  at  her  bidding.  Yet  it  was  a 
dreary  home-coming  after  all,  and  the  girl  of  nineteen,  in 
her  deep  mourning  looked  so  small  and  solitary  in  the  larga 


2i?o  OLD  MYDDELTOS'S  MONEY. 

drawing-room  when  Mr.  Stafford  joined  her  after  dinner 
(leaving  the  chaplain  and  the  Indian  secretary  happy  over 
the  letters  and  papers  which  had  awaited  them),  that  he 
plunged  into  what  he  had  intended  only  to  say  by-and-hy. 

"  Miss  Craven,  what  immense  rooms  these  are !  This  one 
wants  at  least  half  a  dozen  forms  about  it,  and  half  a  dozen 
voices  to  break  its  stillness.  And  that  reminds  me" — it 
was  quite  as  well  to  say  that  that  reminded  him  as  to  say 
that  her  black-robed  figure  in  its  solitude  had  reminded  him 
— "  that  it  falls  to  me,  now  Mr.  Haughton  has  left  us,  to 
propose  that  you  engage  a  lady  as  companion,  Miss  Craven. 
May  I  undertake  the  preliminary  steps  for  you  ?" 

"Not  quite  yet,"  said  Honor  gently  ;  " I  will  ask  first  if 
my  cousin  Phoebe  will  come  and  stay  with  me." 

"You  will  write  to  her  then,  or  shall  I  go  down  to 
Statton  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you  " — Honor  hesitated  unaccountably  over 
the  reply — "  I  shall  like  to  go  down  to  Statton  myself." 

Mr.  Stafford  could  not  understand  the  tone. 

"She  is  changed  a  good  deal,"  he  mused  to  himself, 
"since — I  suppose  since  Lady  Lawrence's  death — and  she 
looks  changed  too :  not  by  her  mourning,  but  by  something 
else.  TJnlesg  it  was  Haughton's  visit,  I  cannot  make  it  out. 
There  is  some  purpose  in  her  mind,  some  decidedly  real  and 
earnest  purpose.  What  is  it  ?" 

"I  trust,"  he  added  aloud,  "yon  had  no  ill  news  from 
Statton  in  the  letters  you  found  here,  Miss  Craven  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  That  poor  little  French  photographer  is  dead,  I  hear." 

"  Yes  ;  and  one  of  my  other  purposes  for  the  journey  to 
Statton  is  to  bring  his  daughter  back  with  me.  There  is 
abundance  of  room  for  her  here,  and  I  can  take  care  of  her, 
and  perhaps  lighten  her  suffering  a  little." 

"  One  of  my  other  purposes,"  repeated  the  lawyer  to  him- 
self, watching  her  rather  observantly.  "  To  fetch  her 
cousin  if  she  will  come,  one  purpose  ;  to  bring  back  the 
nick  girl,  another  ;  and  what  is  the  third  ?  The  important 
one,  evidently  ;  I  can  see  it  in  her  face,  poor  child  !  " 

The  lawyer  Lady  Lawrence  had  chosen  was  a  man  of 
large,  warm  heart,  and  just  sufficient  self-esteem  to  know 
how  valuable  was  his  advice  and  help. 


OLD  MYODELTON'S  MONEY.  $27 

So  he  said,  in  his  kind  tones,  "  If  you  have  any  purpose 
in  your  visit  to  Kinbury  in  which  my  help  can  be  of  use  to 
you,  my  dear  Miss  Craven,  I  hope  you  know  your  old  friend 
John  Stafford  well  enough  to  trust  him." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  in  doubt  only  for  a  moment, 
then  a  great  relief  shone  in  her  s/es. 

"  Will  you  help  me  ? "  she  asked,  almost  below  her 
breath. 

"  I  will,  my  dear  young  lady  ;  believe  me  in  this — I 
will." 

The  promise  was  prompt  and  spontaneous,  but  it  was 
none  the  less  true  for  that ;  and  she  in  a  moment  trusted 
it,  and  felt  what  a  support  and  rest  this  help  would  be. 

"  I  am  going,"  she  said,  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap,  and 
her  lips  trembling  a  little  as  the  words  passed  them,  "  with 
this  purpose — do  not  laugh  or  scorn  ;  ah  !  please  do  not,  for 
it  is  a  purpose  I  cannot  give  up,  tbough  it  will  seem  hope- 
less to  you — I — want  to  find  the  real  murderer  of  old  Mr. 
Myddelton." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

But,  when  I  plead,  she  bids  me  play  my  part ; 

And,  when  I  weep,  she  says  tears  are  but  water ; 
And,  when  I  sigh,  she  says  I  know  the  art ; 

And,  when  I  wail,  she  turns  herself  to  laughter. 

SPENSER. 

HONOR'S  unexpected  appearance  at  The  Larches,  a  few  days 
after  her  return  to  England,  had  a  very  curious  effect  upon 
Miss  Haughton.  If  an  opportunity  had  been  given  that 
lady  of  declining  to  see  her  young  cousin  at  all,  she  would 
gladly  have  availed  herself  of  it ;  but  Honor  guessed  some- 
thing of  this,  and  so  sent  no  notice  of  her  intention  to  visit 
Station. 

Mr.  Stafford  travelled  with  her  to  Kinbury,  then  she 
walked  alone  to  East  Cottage,  and  Marie  Verrien — but  for 
the  mourning  dress,  and  for  something  in  Honor's  face  which 
gave  it  a  new,  sweet  gravity — felt  that  Miss  Craven  might 
jnst  have  walked  in  from  The  Larches  to  chat  with  ter  aa 
la  old 


OLD  MTDDELTON  S  MONET. 

And  this  was  really  the  millionaire  about  whom  the  village 
had  had  so  much  to  say,  and  of  whose  first  visit  here  so  many 
wild  conjectures  had  been  framed  1  Marie  gazed  in  wonder 
preater  even  than  her  admiration.  They  had  told  her  Misa 
Craven  had  become  one  of  the  grandest  ladies  in  England, 
that  she  had  visited  all  the  kings  and  queens  in  Europe,  and 
that  the  greatest  gentleman  in  the  world  was  wooing  her. 
Yet  here  she  was,  sitting  quite  naturally  in  the  bare  little 
kitchen,  and  talking  just  as  she  used  to  talk.  And — ah  I 
was  it  a  dream  ?  Surely  it  must  be  a  dream  ! — she  was  pro- 
posing to  take  back,  to  her  own  beautiful,  wonderful  home, 
jhe  lame,  useless  woman  whom  others  thought  a  burden. 

Was  it  any  wonder  that  Marie,  after  that,  could  not  utter 
one  single  connected  speech  through  Honor's  stay  ?  Honor 
herself  made  all  arrangements  for  the  removal.  A  neighbour 
who  came  in  every  morning  and  night  to  assist  the  lonely 
/oung  Frenchwoman  would  help  in  this.  The  cottage 
could  be  given  up  at  once  to  the  old  man  who  had  the  lodg- 
ings, and  who,  at  her  father's  death,  had  expressed  a  wish 
to  take  the  whole  cottage.  So  Marie  was  to  be  ready  to 
leave  Station  on  the  next  day  but  one. 

After  a  bright  hour  for  Marie,  Honor  continued  her  walk 
to  The  Larches.  The  distance  seemed  nothing  to  the  girl, 
BO  busy  were  her  thoughts,  and  so  thickly  memories  crowded 
about  her.  Ten  years  of  her  life  had  been  spent  here  in 
uninterrupted  routine  ;  then  had  followed  the  two  great 
events  of  her  life.  She  had  refused  the  only  love  she  had 
ever  prized  or  valued,  and  had  won  the  vast  wealth  which 
made  her  life  so  different  a  one  from  that  which  they  now 
lived  who  had  formed  her  home  in  old  days. 

With  her  thoughts  buried  in  those  past  times,  she  walked 
slowly  on  along  the  highway,  and  those  who  met,  and  knew 
her,  stood  to  watch  her  out  of  sight,  marvelling  because,  like 
the  young  Frenchwoman,  they  had  built  their  own  romances 
of  Miss  Craven's  coming  to  Station  some  day  with  half  a 
dozen  horses  to  her  carriage,  and  men  in  scarlet  riding 
beside  it,  passing  under  arches  of  flowers  and  evergreens,  to 
the  music  of  the  volunteer  band  from  Kinbury.  And  this 
^as  the  way  she  had  come  at  last ! 

All  unconscious  of  the  disappointment  Phe  was  causing, 
Honor  greeted  tiieae  Tiliagers  with  her  brigkt  words  and 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  229 

smiles,  and  seemed  to  forget  just  then  that  her  home  was 
not  among  them  as  it  used  to  be. 

Before  she  reached  The  Larches,  she  was  overtaken  by 
the  Rector,  who  hurried  cordially  up  to  her. 
-  "  Mrs.  Romer  will  be  delighted;"  he  said,  "  you  will  come 
and  see  her,  Miss  Craven  ?    You  will  coine  and  stay  with 
us  a  little  ? " 

"I  should  like  it  very  much,  Mr.  Romer,"  said  Honor,  with 
a  readiness,  and  even  gratitude,  quite  unexpected  'jy  hiin  ; 
"  1  only  intend  to  be  in  this  neighbourhood  two  days,  and  1 
am  going  now  to  The  Larches — do  you  think  they  will  ask 
tne  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Promise  to  come  to  us  to-day,  Miss  Craven,  do  !  What- 
ever they  wish,  let  them  know  that  you  have  given  me  the 
prior  promise." 

"  Yes,  I  will  promise,  Mr.  Romer.  I  see  that  you  fp el 
sure  they  will  not  care  to  see  me,  and  I  am  very  muub 
obliged  for  your  invitation." 

And  this  was  the  return  of  the  millionaire  ! 

"  Mr.  Haughton  has  grown  more  morose  than  ever  durin? 
the  last  few  days,  Honor," — the  old  name  slipped  out  so 
naturally  when  he  found  her  just  his  little  favourite  of 
old  days — "and  Miss  Haughton  more  wrapped  up  in  her 
brother,  or  herself,  or  both.  It  will  not  cheer  you  to  stay 
there,  my  dear." 

"  And  Phoebe  ?  " 

"  Phoebe  is  just  what  she  always  was,  and  probably  what 
she  always  will  be.  You  are  sure  to  have  heard  all  about 
the  others,"  continued  the  Rector,  looking  down  into  her 
face,  "  as  Captain  Trent  hurried  to  town  to  put  himself  at 
your  service." 

"  Hervey's  service,"  said  Honor,  laughing,  "  is  pre- 
eminently a  summer  pastime,  Mr.  Romer.  It  is  not  » 
wearying  process  for  him." 

"  I  suppose  Lady  Lawrence  discouraged  his  visits  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  he  did  not  force  them  upon  us." 

"  That  was  well,  but  it  will  be  different  now.  Shall  yc  ' 
go  to  Deergrove  to-day  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  " 

"  That  is  well,  too.    Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trent  are  not  generous 

to  she  memory  of  Lady  Lawrence,  or  " 

Q 


230  OLD  MVDDELTON'S  MONET 

"  Or  to  me,"  smiled  Honor. 

"Of  course  you  are  going  over  to  see  Abbotsmoor.  Tot 
will  hardly  know  it." 

"I  hope  not,"  she  answered.  "Mr.  Stafford  is  staying 
in  Kinbury,  and  will  drive  over  for  me  to-morrow.  I  intend 
to  spend  a  whole  day  at  Abbotsmoor,  as  I  want  to  go  over 
the  cottages  as  well  as  the  house." 

"  The  cottages,  eh  ?  "  laughed  the  Rector.  "  There  will 
Dot  be  much  pleasure  for  you  in  that.  The  Abbotsmoor 
poor  are  a  benighted  set." 

"  Then  it  is  high  time,  is  it  not,  that  some  one  lived  at 
Abbotsmoor  ?  " 

"  High  time,  indeed,  and  a  good  day  it  will  be  for  Abbots- 
moor,  Honor,  when  you  go." 

They  had  reached  The  Larches  now,  and  the  Rector,  with 
a  last  reminder  to  Honor  of  her  promise,  opened  the  gate 
for  her. 

She  looked  eagerly  up  at  the  bare  windows  of  her  old 
home,  as  she  trod  the  familiar  drive  to  the  front  door  No 
sign  of  any  face  looking  out ;  and  she  knocked  with  a  hand 
that  trembled  a  little. 

Yes,  Miss  Haughton  was  in,  and  Miss  Owen — the  house- 
maid was  anew  servant,  and  did  not  recognise  Miss  Craven. 

Miss  Haughton  entered  the  room  presently  in  her  stiff 
black  dress  (it  was  a  matter  of  pride  more  than  courtesy  in 
all  old  My  ddel  ton's  relations  to  assume  mourning  fur  Lady 
Lawrence),  and  held  out  her  hand  to  Honor,  as  if  offering 
the  limb  for  voluntary  sacrifice. 

"  I  concluded  it  was  you,"  she  said,  in  dull,  cold  tones, 
which  brought  Honor's  childhood  back  to  her  with  a  rush 
of  self-pity,  "  though  I  wonder  you  have  leisure  or  inclina- 
tion to  return  here." 

"  I  left  London  for  the  purpose  of  visiting  Abbotsmoor," 
said  Honor,  honestly,  "  but  I  could  not  be  so  near,  and  not 
come  to  see  you.  Are  you  quite  well,  Jane  ?  " 

The  girl  soon  found  she  had  set  hersel  f  no  easy  task  in 
opening  a  genial  discourse  with  Jane  Haughton,  and 
Phoebe's  entrance  after  a  time  was  a  great  relief. 

"  Why,  Honor ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Owen,  rushing  up  to 
kiss  her*  cousin,  "  I  had  no  idea  it  was  you,  else  I  should 
£X)t  have  waited  a  minute." 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  231 

0  I  shall  leave  you  girls  together  now,"  observed  Jane, 
rising.  "  Shall  I  send  in  a  glass  of  wine,  Honor,  or  are 
you  going  to  stay  here  this  evening  ?  " 

With  a  great  effort  Honor  thanked  her  guardian's  sister 
for  this  cordial  invitation,  and  explained  how  her  promise 
had  been  given  to  Mr.  Romer  ;  then  Jane,  with  great  un- 
concern, wished  her  good-bye  and  left  the  room. 

"  Phoebe,"  said  Honor,  standing  with  both  her  hands  upon 
her  cousin's  shoulders,  "  will  you  come  back  with  me  ?  " 

Looking  down  into  the  broad  Dutch  face,  Honor  saw  a 
vivid  scarlet  spread  from  chin  to  brow. 

"  Oh,  Honor  ! "  she  faltered  and  then  stopped. 

"  Is  it  no  ?  "  asked  Honor,  sadly. 

"  I  cannot  come." 

"  Phoebe,"  said  her  younger  cousin,  presently,  "  just  listen 
to  me  for  a  few  moments.  I  can  see  from  your  manner  that 
Lawrence  and  Jane  would  be  angry — scornful,  too,  most 
probably — if  you  proposed  coming  to  live  with  me  ;  and 
now,  as  in  old  times,  you  would  not  for  the  world  act 
against  Lawrence's  wish.  And  besides  that,"  added  the 
girl,  gently,  "I  suppose  it  is  still  happiest  for  you  where  h« 
is.  But  if  the  time  ever  comes  when  you  think  differently, 
Phoebe,  remember  what  I  tell  you  now,  I  shall  be  as  glad 
to  have  you  then  as  I  should  be  glad  to  have  you  to-day. 
Be  sure  and  remember  this,  dear  little  Frau  ;  promise." 

"  Yes,  Honor.  It  would  be  beautiful  to  live  with  you 
in  such  grandeur,  and  with  no  shortness  of  money,  and 
scoldings,  only  " 

"  Only  you  would  rather  wait,"  concluded  Honor,  kindly. 
"  But  be  sure  and  remember  what  I  tell  you,  Phoebe." 

"  Oh,  Honor  ! "  sobbed  Phoebe,  with  a  new  trouble, 
"  Lawrence  is  harder  than  ever  now." 

Of  course  the  very  mention  of  his  nameunsealed  the  slightly- 
guarded  fount  of  Phoebe's  tears,  and  they  flowed  freely  while 
she  enlightened  her  old  companion  on  the  subject  of  her 
guardian's  increasing  indifference  and  general  moodiness. 

"  Since  his  return  from  London,  Honor,  a  week  ago,  he 
has  been  far,  far  worse." 

"  Never  mind  him,"  said  Honor,  in  her  honest  contempt, 
as  she  recalled  the  reason  of  this  "  Talk  of  some  one  else, 
little 


f32  OL_   JlYDDELTON'S 

A  lone1  hour,  which  Phoebe  did  not  make  a  very  c!  eerful 
one,  the  girls  spent  together  ;  then  they  parted  with  a 
renewal  of  that  promise  of  Phoebe's,  and  a  request  from 
Honor  that  when  Mr.  Stafford  drove  over  from  Kinburj 
next  morning,  Phoebe  wonld  send  him  on  to  the  rectory. 

A  pleasant  reception  awaited  Honor  at  the  rectory,  .and, 
indeed,  any  little  pleasure  which  she  was  to  glean  from  the 
visit  toStatton  was  tobe  dueto  the  cheery  Rectorandhiswile, 
except  that  generous  pleasure  it  gave  her  to  see  the  intense 
happiness  of  Marie  Yerrien  in  her  preparations  for  departure. 

The  day  she  and  Mr.  Stafford  spent  at  Abbotsmoor  was 
a  disappointing  one.  True,  the  house  was  growing  com- 
fortable and  beautiful,  but  then  the  girl's  real  motive  for 
(he  visit  (that  search  among  the  cottages  for  Margaret 
Territ),  was  as  much  in  vain  as  had  seemed  that  search  of 
Royden  Keith's  so  long  before. 

"You  must  entirely  give  np  your  Quixotic  idea,  Miss 
Craven,"  remarked  the  lawyer,  as  they  drove  back  to  Stat- 
ton.  "  Why,  even  if  the  woman  could  be  found,  she  could 
not  remove  the  guilt  from  Gabriel  Myddelton.  So  do  you 
not  see  it  better  to  let  the  subject  lie  in  its  long  oblivion  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Honor,  with  a  repretful  shake  of  her  head, 
"  I  do  not  see  it  better,  Mr.  Stafford,  even  now,  when  we 
have  tiied  all  day  and  met  with  no  success." 

"  Well,  I  have  given  you  my  advice,  my  dear  young  lady ; 
but  still  I  need  not  remind  you  I  am  at  your  service  even  in 
this  Quixotic  search." 

This  was  a  gala  evening  at  the  rectory.  Sir  Philip  and 
Lady  Somerson  had  heard  of  Honor's  advent,  and  driven 
over  from  the  castle  to  spend  this  evening  with  her.  And 
they  all  did  their  best  to  make  this  ni<.>ht  a  festival,  just  as 
if  they  understood  how  little  Honor  had  been  welcomed 
among  her  own  connections. 

Next  day,  with  Mrs.  Romer  as  her  guest,  she  returned  to 
London,  and  Marie  Verrien  was  installed  in  a  pretty  little 
room,  which  seemed  to  her  a  perfect  fairyland;  containing, 
us  it  did,  delightful  devices  for  her  comfort,  pretty  things 
f»r  her  to  look  upon,  and  materials  for  many  a  different  and 
attractive  work.  What  happy,  placid  hours  Marie  was  to 
epend  in  this  room  ! — sociable  ones,  also,  to  which  the  poor 
French  girl  had  been  but  little  accustomed.  One  or  two  at 


OLD   !TYDDKtTON*8   MONEY.  233 

A  time  the  servants  would  come  and  sit  and  chat  with  her, 
bringing  her  something  to  see,  or  to  discuss,  or  to  laugh  over. 

Just  as  the  servants  in  Roy  den  Keith's  household — 
following  their  master's  example,  as  servants  usually  will— • 
bad  been  kind  to,  and  considerate  for,  her  father  during 
that  happy  visit  of  his  to  Westleigh  Towers,  so  were  Honor's 
servants — following  her  example — thoughtful  for  this 
afflicted  girl.  But  the  brightest  hours  of  all  her  life  to 
Marie  were  those  which  Honor  herself  spent  in  the  pleasant 
room,  entering  with  her  soft  step  arid  merry  greeting,  and 
sitting  down,  just  as  if  the  rest  and  the  change  were  as  good 
to  her  as  to  Marie.  She  would  take  the  same  interest  as  the 
sick  girl  did  in  a  new  pattern,  or  a  picture,  or  a  buok  ;  and 
sometimes  she  would  sing  to  her,  as  dying  ears  had  loved  to 
hear  her  sing  ;  while  at  others  she  would  sit  in  silent 
interest,  gently  wooing  Marie  to  talk  of  her  father — ever 
the  poor  girl's  one  sweetest  subject  of  thought  or  speech. 

It  was  at  these  times  that  Marie  often  and  gratefully 
mentioned  the  name  of  Royden  Keith,  and  it  w.is  at  these 
times  that  Honor's  silence  was  so  long  and  so  unbroken 

Thus  time  sped  on  in  the  mansion  at  Kensington.  Honor, 
though  going  into  no  society>  was  still  sought  after  most 
persistently.  Her  mourning  dress  was  no  armour  against 
the  constant  entreaties  to  join  certain  friends,  "quietly  ;" 
to  visit  just  this  old  friend,  who  would  ask  "  no  one  "  to 
meet  her  ;  to  allow  that  old  friend  to  visit  her,  only  bring- 
ing a  son  or  brother,  as  the  case  might  be.  and  "  no  one 
else."  In  her  quiet,  pleasant  manner — a  manner  which 
never  could  give  pain,  whatever  firmness  it  betrayed— 
Honor  resisted  these  advances  -,  and  though  she  found  it 
quite  impossible  to  live  as  quietly  as  she  wished,  she 
certainly  lived  as  quietly  as  she  could.  She  had  engaged  a 
chaperon  now,  a  stately  widowed  "  Honourable,"  whose 
husband  had  held  no  moral  claim  to  a  like  title,  but  who,  in 
dying,  left  her  all  he  had — his  debts  ,  after  the  payment  of 
which  she  was  glad  and  grateful  to  accept  Honor's  generous 
offer.  But  Honor  still  hoped  that  Phoebe  would  live  with 
her ;  indeed,  the  feeling  had  grown  to  a  perfect  certainty. 

There  was  one  person  belonging  to  Honor's  old  home 
who,  through  this  winter,  haunted  her  constantly,  and  thi« 
was  Captain  Trent. 


234  CLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

Since  her  return  as  no  longer  heiress,  but  possessor,  of  old 
Myddelton's  money,  and  Lady  Lawrence's  fortune,  his 
attentions  had  been  unmistakeable  and  increasing  ;  and 
though  she  invariably  treated  them  as  a  jest  when  she  was 
forced  to  notice  them  at  all,  that  fact  had  no  power  to 
weaken  or  diminish  them.  Sometimes,  even  in  reality,  they 
amused  Honor,  for  they  were  too  selfish  and  too  shallow  to 
cause  her  a  shade  of  pain  ;  and  her  bright  laugh  would  break 
the  silence  of  the  great  house  in  the  very  midst  of  his  most 
elaborate  speeches  and  most  carefully  selected  pleas.  His 
sighs  and  pathos  she  turned  into  fun  ;  his  devotion  alto- 
gether was  a  merry  jest,  too  trivial  and  too  hollow  to  be 
aught  else.  Nevertheless,  as  far  as  Captain  Hervey  under- 
stood the  sensation,  he  felt  himself  to  be  thoroughly  in  love, 
and  he  played  his  part  in  that  capacity  to  the  best  of  his 
somewhat  limited  power.  But  still  he  could  not  make  the 
part  a  manly  one,  nor  prevent  the  ludicrous  element  being 
that  which  always  struck  Honor  first  and  irresistibly. 

Yet  how  was  it,  as  Captain  Hervey  constantly  questioned 
to  himself,  that  his  wooing  would  not  speed  ?  Other  girls 
valued  his  languid  attentions,  and  met  them  go  readily  that 
he  had  none  of  this  sense  of  fatigue  and  defeat  which  he 
constantly  experienced  with  Honor.  Other  girls  took  the 
wit  on  credit  when  they  listened  graciously  to  the  words 
which  issued  so  correctly  from  under  the  silky  moustache  ; 
other  girls  laughed  when  he  wished  them  to  laugh,  and 
questioned  in  great  interest  when  he  waited  for  them  to 
question;  but  Honor  did  really  necessitate  his  exerting 
himself  in  a  most  unusual  and  uncharacteristic  manner 

•'  And  yet  for  all  your  disregard,  I  am  sure  I  shall  never 
love  anyone  else  as  I  love  you,  Honor,"  he  would  urge, 
"and  as  I  have  always  loved  you." 

" '  Since  you  were  rich,' — why  do  you  not  finish  your 
sentence,  Hervey  ?  " 

"  It  is  too  bad  of  you  always  to  say  that,  Honor,"  he  would 
urge,  "  for  it  is  not  truet  Indeed,  I  used  to  love  you  just 
the  same  when  I  was  " 

" '  Telling  you  about  my  probable  marriage  with 
Theodora.'  See,  I  have  to  finish  all  your  sentences  for  you. 
Oh,  when  you  used  to  lecture  me  on  my  gaucherie,  you  were 
most  seriously  in  love  with  me,  Hervey— were  you  not  ?  " 


OLD   MTDDELTON'S   MONET.  235 

••Ye?,"  answered  Hervey,  the  more  fretfully  because  he 
knew  bow  truly  the  girl  had  read  him  even  then.  "  And 
you  could  have  no  husband — choose  where  you  might — who 
would  be  more  devoted  to  you,  Honor  ;  and  we  are  connecx 
lions,  you  know,  and  we  have  known  each  other  all  our 
1  ves  ;  and  I  am  not  a  bad-looking  fellow,  as  other  women 
8ay  ;  and  I  should  make  you  a  good  husband  indeed." 

"  For  a  hot  and  idle  summer  mood,"  would  Honor  say, 
when  forced  to  answer  this  weak  proposal  ;  "  but  for  sad 
moods  and  heavy  moods,  and,  above  all,  for  earnest  moods 
and  solemn  moods,  you  would  not  make  me  a  good  husband 
at  all,  Hervey." 

"  But  try  me  in  earnest,  Honor  ;  do  net  take  it  always  as 
a  joke." 

"  It  is  a  joke,"  the  girl  would  say,  in  gravity  ;  "  and,  if 
I  ever  cease  to  take  it  as  a  joke,  we  could  not  be  old  friends, 
because,  however  earnestly  I  beg,  you  will  not  leave  off 
these  silly  speeches." 

No — Hervey  was  not  to  be  rebuffed.  As  time  went  on 
he  only  made  himself  more  and  more  ridiculous  in  his  un- 
manly persistence ;  and,  but  for  Honor's  intense  kindness 
to  him  as  to  one — and  the  only  one  near  her — belonging  to 
her  old  life,  she  would  many  times  have  been  tempted  to 
forbid  him  her  house. 

But  the  strongest  reason  for  not  doing  this  was  a  mixture 
of  pity  with  her  kindness,  for  there  had  stolen  into  her  mind 
a  fear  that  his  pursuits  in  town  were  not  merely  useless  onos, 
such  as  they  used  to  be  when  in  graceful  indolence  he 
awaited  landed  estates  and  a  million  of  money.  Now 
Captain  Hervey's  magnificent  expectatioc?  had  dissolved  in 
air.  He  had  all  his  time  upon  his  hands  ;  and  the  seven 
hundred  a  year,  which  had  been  a  satisfactory  income  to 
trade  upon  before  the  arrival  of  Myddelton's  wealth,  was  a 
poor  fortune  for  a  man  of  idle  habits  and  expensive  tastes. 
Those  acquaintances  who,  during  the  years  of  his  great  ex- 
pectations, had  gathered  round  Captain  Trent  preparatory  to 
Bupporting  and  guiding  the  millionaire,  had,  after  their  brip* 
relapse,  gathered  about  him  now,  to  encourage  him  for  his 
next  move;  and — making  him  dissolute  and  extravagant  like 
themselves,  though  they  could  not  make  him  either  so  crafty 
or  so  keen — they  spurred  him  on  in  his  pursuit  of  Honor. 


286  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

If  he  could  win  her  and  all  her  wealth,  he  would  be 
one  of  the  most  important  men  in  England,  and  certainly 
the  lion  of  society— they  had  not  studied  Hervey's  nature 
for  their  own  purposes,  without  knowing  its  weak  points — 
and  how  he  could  laugh  at  the  defeat  of  richer  and  nobler 
men,  if  he  could  win  the  beauty  for  whom  everybody  strove. 

Thus  they  spurred  him  on,  and  his  weak,  selfish  plans 
fitted  so  admirably  with  theirs,  that  he  learned  his  lesson 
easilv  and  well.  And  whilst  this  great  move  was  pending, 
other  tasks  were  learned,  into  which  he  readily  fell,  seeing 
them  only  as  other  forms  of  worship  for  his  old  idol  of 
"  Good  Form." 

And  in  this  worship,  Hervey  was  slowly  sinking  to  the 
level  of  an  habitual  gambler,  when  another  London  season 
began,  and  Honor,  obeying  an  urgently  expressed  wish  of 
Lady  Lawrence's,  opened  the  Kensington  mansion,  and 
once  again  entered  into  society,  to  be  more  sought  after 
and  flattered  even  than  before,  though  so  much  more  grave 
and  quiet,  and  wearing  still  no  colours. 

Everyone  noticed  the  undefinable  change  in  her,  the 
deepening  of  that  thoughtfulness  which  had  ever  lain  below 
her  dainty  merriment ;  but  everyone  noticed,  too,  how  there 
sc.il!  clung  to  her  the  old  power,  which  she  had  ever  pos- 
sessed in  an  intense  degree,  of  both  giving  and  enjoying 
happiness. 

One  morning,  early  in  the  season,  Honor  pat  poring  over 
a  very  unusual  and  rambling  letter  from  Phoebe.  It  seemed 
both  to  pain  and  please  her,  for,  though  the  tears  wr* 
standing  in  her  eyes,  she  folded  the  letter  with  a  smile  when 
she  had  read  it. 

"  It  is  pitiful,"  she  murmured,  "  and  yet  I  am  very  glad. 

Then  her  thoughts  wandered  to  others  belonging  to  her 
old  home,  and  at  last  fixed  themselves  sadly  upon  Hervey. 

Gradually,  all  through  the  winter,  he  had  been  growing 
more  and  more  idle,  listless,  and  extravagant.  Gradually 
he  seemed  to  be  losing  his  self-respect  ;  and,  in  the 
intervals  of  his  suit,  be  would  entreat  her  to  interest  herself 
for  a  "  capital  fellow  "  he  knew,  who  said  she  could,  by  a 
word,  get  him  a  certain  appointment  for  which  he  had  a 
talent  and  a  wish  ;  because  the  men  in  office  would  be  glad 
enough  to  have  the  opportunity  of  obliging  her,  and  proud 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  207 

to  do  it  too.  Then  when — very  firmly,  though  always 
kindly — she  would  refuse  all  help  that  was  not  for  himself 
aloLe,  he,  rehearsing  his  lesson,  would  borrow  for  himself 
Borne  sum,  "  just  only  for  a  few  days,  Honor."  At  another 
time  he  would  tease  her  to  allow  him  to  introduce  thefii 
friends  of  his,  until  she  would  turn  upon  him  with  her  old 
spirit,  and  tell  him  that  their  influence  over  him  was  quite 
enough  to  prove  their  worthlessness.  But  Hervey,  im- 
pervious to  hints,  wearied  her  day  after  day  with  the  old 
story  ;  and  still,  in  her  good-natured  scorn,  she  met  it  as  a 
jest,  because  she  wished  to  save  him  from  what  he  might  be 
tempted  to  seek. 

She  was  thus  thinking  of  him,  with  Phoebe's  letter  still 
in  her  hand,  when  he  came  into  her  presence  in  a  state  as 
nearly  bordering  on  excitement  as  he  could  reach.  Honor 
glanced  up  and  smiled.  He  had  not  been  near  her  for  two 
days,  and  she  fancied  that  he  was  at  last  trying  to  pleasf 
her.  But  his  first  words  dispelled  this  fancy. 

"  I  have  been  away  for  two  days,  Honor,"  he  said  "  and  I 
declare  it  seems  a  year.  They  sent  for  me  to  Deergrove  to 
arrange  about  my  taking  a  house  for  them.  They  are  coming 
for  acouple  of  months.  It  is  a  great  bore;  but  that  is  not  what 
I  came  to  say.  I  find  an  invitation  from  Lady  Somerson 
for  to-night,  and  I  want  to  know  if  you  are  going,  Honor  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  she  is  my  oldest  friend,  you  know." 

"  I  thought  you  would.  How  many  dances  will  you 
promise  me  ?  " 

"  One,  as  usual." 

"  Then  1  cannot  go.  It  is  hateful  to  be  laughed  at  for 
getting  nipped  whenever  I  ask  you." 

"  Then  why  do  you  ask  me  ?  " 

"Because  1  cannot  help  it  when  I  am  near  you.  But  I  sup- 
pose I  can  if  I  stay  away,  so  I  will  go  with  the  other  fellows." 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Honor,  gravely. 

"  To — oh,  you  would  not  understand." 

"  I  do  understand,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  full  of 
sadness.  "I  have  seen  this  habit  growing  upon  you, 
Hervey.  1  have  seen  it  from  the  very  first,  and  I  tell  you 
plainly  now,  as  I  have  tried  to  make  you  understand  before, 
that  you  must  either  give  up  that  habit  of  play,  or  you 
give  up  coming  here." 


Iv3  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

"I  cannot  help  it,"  said  Hervey,  moodily;  "I  am  so 
miserable  always  now.  You  will  not  listen  to  me,  and 
people  always  taunt  me  for  following  you  everywhere,  to  DO 
purpose  ;  and  you  only  laugh  at  me  ;  and  what  can  I  dc 
but  amuse  myself  some  other  way  ?  " 

"  Very  well,"  said  Honor,  with  a  quiet  scorn  in  her  grave 
voice.  "  Go;  only,  in  the  leisure  hours  between  your  games, 
do  not  come  here." 

"  I  never  go  further  than  a  gentleman  should,  Honor," 
said  Captain  Trent,  feebly  grasping  at  her  good  opinion  with 
what  had  always  been  his  strong  argument.  "  You  do  not 
care  to  see  me,  you  know  you  do  not,"  he  added,  plaintively; 
"else  I  would  do  anything  to  win  your  good  opinion." 

"  To  win  that,"  said  Honor,  quietly  "  you  must  leave  off 
these — I  will  not  say,  as  you  do,  ungentlemanly,  but  most 
unmanly — pursuits." 

"  And  if  I  do  ?  " 

"  If  you  do,  we  are  friends  still,  and  yon  shall  come  as  yon 
have  been  used  to  do." 

"  But  Theodora  will  be  in  town  presently,"  said  Hervey* 
with  a  sigh  of  recollection  ;  "and  I  am  always  so  terribly 
bored  when  I  am  not  with  you  ;  besides  " 

"  Besides  what  ?  "  asked  Honor,  looking  up  with  sudden 
fear.  "  Will  you  let  the  old  habit  hold  you  still  ?  " 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  he  said,  uneasily ;  "but  sometimes 
it  is  even  necessary .  I  have  more  debts  than  I  imagined,  and 
paying  them  off  rmikes  a  sad  hole  in  my  paltry  income.  I  Lave 
so  much  time  on  my  hands  too  ;  and — Theo  will  be  so  dull." 

"  Hervey,"  she  said,  "  would  you  like  an  employment  for 
some  of  these  wasted  hours,  employment  (as  you  would  say) 
suited  for  a  gentleman  ?  If  you  would,  and  if  you  are  really 
steady  and  anxious  in  the  wish,  I  will  buy  for  you  that  bank 
partnership  Mr.  Stafford  told  us  of  when  you  were  here  last. 
Take  these  months,  while  Theodora  is  in  town,  for  making 
your  choice  ;  do  not  hurriedly  do  it  I  will  not  bias  you  in 
any  way.  If,  when  the  time  is  over,  you  have  not  left  the 
old  ways,  or  have  decided  you  would  rather  have  your  time 
to  yourself,  then  we  will  forget  this  plan.  If  you  have 
decided  that  twenty-four  hours  in  every  day  is  too  much 
time  to  waste  ;  and  that  easy,  light  occupation  for  five  of 
tnose,  would  make  the  others  pleasauter,  and  preveut  your 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  239 

life  being  such  a  listless,  drifting  career  ;  and  if  you  feel  that 
the  extra  income  which  you  need,  would  be  more  honestly 
enjoyed  by  being  earned  than  by  being  robbed  from  others 
— why,  then  the  partnership  shall  be  yours.  You  cannot 
complain  of  your  income  then,  Hervey." 

"  Oh  !  Honor,"  he  cried,  astonished;  "  how  good  you  are  !'* 

"No,"  she  said,  shrinking  a  little  from  his  excitement, 
"  I  know  that  you  used  to — to  depend  upon  inheriting  what, 
fell  so  strangely  to  my  lot ;  and  I  should  like  to  do  a  little^ 
towards  making  this  up  to  you ;  only  I  want  none  of  this* 
money  which  I  hold  in  trust  to  be  wasted,  or,  above  all, 
used  for  evil  purposes.  So  you  understand,  Hervey,  why  I 
wish  you  to  take  this  time  to  think  it  earnestly  over.  I 
would  not  like  you  to  take  this  post,  and  then  regret  it ;  and 
I  would  Hot  like  you  to  refuse  it  now,  and  afterwards  feel  it 
beyond  your  reach  if  better  thoughts  should  follow.  So 
remember  you  have  the  time  of  Theodora's  stay  to  make 
your  choice.  I  shall  not  see  you  then  so  much — do  not 
interrupt  me,  please — but  if  you  continue  this  horrible 
gambling,  as  I  said,  I  will  not  see  you  at  all.  If  you  do 
not,  Hervey,  we  are  old  friends  still  ;  and  this  is  a  home 
for  you  in  leisure  hours.  At  the  end  of  the  two  months 
bring  me  your  choice,  and  it  shall  be  all  right  at  the  bank." 

"Oh,  Honor,  how  good  you  are  to  me  !  "  he  cried  again; 
"  and  may  I  come  with  you  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Now  tell  me  something  of  Kinbury  and  Statton, 
Hervey  ;  then  I  will  give  you  my  news.  Did  yon  go  to 
Abbotsmoor  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  It  is  getting  on  magnificently.  It  will  bf 
a  beautiful  place,  or  rather  it  is.  But,  Honor,  what  won- 
derful improvements  there  are,  independent  of  the  house ! 
I  never  saw  such  comfortable  cottages  in  my  life,  and  then 
those  almfihonses  for  the  Kinbury  poor,  and  that  one  long 
pretty  building  far  away  in  the  park.  I  really  believe 
Koaaer  made  a  fool  of  me  when  he  told  me  what  that  is. 
He  said  that  you  would  have  it  full  of  starved  or  hard 
worked  London  people  ;  that  when  you  saw  those  who 
looked  as  if  they  never  awoke  to  any  day  without  its  work 
and  want,  you  would  send  them  there.  He  said  there  would 
be  a  housekeeper  and  servants,  and  flowers,  and  games,  and 
everything  lor  every  season,  and  I  did  not  believe  it,  Honor  " 


240  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

"  Yon  ought  always  to  believe  your  clergyman,"  smiled 
Honor,  while  the  colour  faded  which  had  risen  at  his  worda 

"  Now,  what  is  yonr  news,  Honor  ?  " 

"  You  have  soon  finished.  Never  mind  ;  I  shall  hear 
more  to-day,  for — and  this  is  my  news,  Hervey — Phoebe  is 
coming  to  live  with  me  for  always." 

"  For  always  !  "  echoed  Captain  Trent,  with  a  pleading 
glance  which  Honor  did  not  even  see.  "  What  on  earth  can 
^induce  her  voluntarily  to  leave  Lawrence  Ilaughton's  home  ? 
She  will  come  to  the  ball,  I  suppose,"  he  added,  his  con- 
vet  sation  unconnected  as  usual.  "Oh,  Honor,  do  give  me 
more  than  one  dance." 

"  I  do  not  think,"  she  said  quietly,  "  that  I  shall  dance  at 
all,  except  that  one  dance  with  you.  If  I  do,  it  will  only 
be  because — because  some  old  friend  may  chance  to  be  there 
and  to  ask  me.  Come  in  and  dine  with  us  at  eight,  Phoebe 
will  be  glad  to  see  you.  She  arrives  early  in  the  afternoon. 
Now,  good-bye,  for  I  am  going  to  get  a  dress  for  her." 

"  May  I  not  come  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Then  what  am  I  to  do,  for  I  said  if  I  came  back  I 
would  go — " 

"  What  a  weak  and  helpless  promise,"  said  Honor,  sadly. 
"  Then  come  with  me.  Go  and  tell  Marie  the  latest  news 
of  home,  while  you  are  waiting  for  me." 

So,  for  this  time,  she  had  rescued  him  from  temptatioa 
Not  by  love,  for  her  heart,  with  all  its  warmth  of  kindness, 
could  hold  no  love  for  this  vain,  weak  cousin,  but  with  th* 
generosity  which  was  natural  to  her,  the  wide  pity  for  all 
weakness,  and  the  longing  to  reclaim  from  sin. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Mothers  all  proffer  their  stainless  daughters; 
Men  of  high  honour  salute  him  "friend." 

BAEEY 


LATE  in  the  afternoon  of  that  same  day,  Eoyden  Keitb 
arrived  at  nis  hotel  in  Jermyn  Street.    He  had  been  at 


OLD  MYDDELTON'8  MONEY.  211 

Westleigh  Towers  for  a  few  days,  but  had,  according  to  a 
promise  to  Sir  Philip  and  Lady  Somerson,  returned  in  time 
for  their  first  ball.  After  dinner,  as  he  sat  over  bis  wine, 
he  opened  the  letters  which  had  collected  for  him.  They 
were  nearly  all  alike  in  their  messages,  however  differently 
worded,  and  Hoyden  laid  them  aside,  one  after  another. 

•  "These  gracious  invitations,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and 
tho  gentle  intimations  that  so  many  people  are  at  home  to 
me,  are  all  directed  to  Royden  Keith,  of  Westleigh  Towers. 
How  many  of  them  did  I  receive  twelve  years  ago  ?" 

He  pushed  the  letters  and  the  enamelled  cards  carelessly 
aside  ;  then,  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand,  he  fell  into 
thought,  so  vague  and  visionary,  that  presently  his  eyes 
closed  and  he  fell  asleep. 

Five  minutes  afterwards  Pierce  entered,  with  his  noiseless 
etep,  and  looked  upon  his  master  curiously. 

"  Odd,"  the  valet  mused  to  himself ;  "  he  has  been  over- 
worked or  over-harassed  at  The  Towers.  One,  if  not  both, 
for  it  isn't  like  him  to  sleep — even  after  dinner.  But  it  is 
just  as  well  he  should  ;  he  has  had  a  good  deal  of  travelling 
to-day,  and  will  be  up  all  night.  But  then  what  shall  I  do 
about  Mr.  Haughton  ?  I  can  keop  him  a  few  minutes,  at 
any  rate." 

Pierce  went  out  to  Mr.  Haughton's  cab,  and  told  that 
gentleman  that  his  master  would  be  at  liberty  in  ten 
minutes'  time  ;  and  having  said  that,  he  knew  he  must,  at 
the  end  of  the  ten  minutes,  admit  the  visitor  into  his 
master's  presence  on  his  own  responsibility. 

Just  as  Mr.  Haughton  dismissed  his  cab,  Captain  Trent 
strolled  up  and  accosted  him.  As  usual,  Captain  Hervey 
was  in  no  hurry,  and  so  Lawrence,  for  reasons  of  his  own, 
selected  to  spend  these  waiting  minutes  strolling  to  and  tro 
with  him. 

"I  had  no  idea  you  were  in  town,"  Hervey  said,  after 
his  rather  astonished  greeting.  "  Have  you  been  to  Ken- 
sington ?  " 

"  No,"  returned  Lawrence,  very  stiffly,  "  nor  do  I  know 
that  I  shall  go.  I  have  come  to  town  on  business — a  word 
you  do  not  understand." 

"  What  husin'  ss  ?  "  inquired  Hervey,  languidly. 

Lawrence  smiled  with  scornful  insolence.     The  notion  of 


242  OLD   MYDDELTONS   MOSEY. 

enlightening  Captain  Heryey  Trent  on  his  business  affairs 
amused  him  somewhat. 

"Are  you  not  engaged  ?"  he  asked,  perhaps  for  a  reason 
of  his  own,  perhaps  only  superciliously  turning  aside  the 
other  subject. 

"  Not  until  night,"  rejoined  Captain  Trent,  with  conscious 
pride.  "  I  am  going  to  escort  Honor  to  Sir  Philip  Somer- 
son's." 

"  Who  is  likely  to  be  there  ?  " 

"  Oh,  everybody,  I  suppose." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Lawrence,  with  a  well-assumed  in- 
Jifference,  "  that  fellow,  Keith,  who  came  to  Kinbnry  for 
the  shooting,  two  Septembers  ago,  was  very  great  at  the 
castle.  He  will  be  there  to-night,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Sure  to  be,  if  he  is  in  London,"  said  Hervey,  really  in- 
different at  present  upon  the  subject.  "  He  is  always  asked 
everywhere,  so  they  say." 

"  I  daresay  in  London,  as  in  Kinbury,  what  they  say  is 
generally  a  lie." 

Captain  Trent  looked  astonished  into  his  cousin's  face. 
He  could  not  understand  the  moody  and  vindictive  tones, 
though  he  did  not  associate  them  with  what  he  himself  had 
said,  either  of  Honor  or  Mr.  Keith.  Therefore,  in  his 
usually  complacent  drawl,  he  enlarged  upon  what  he  had 
already  said,  and  gave  Mr.  Hau^liton  a  graphic  description  of 
the  spirit  in  which  Royden  Keith  was  received  into  society  ; 
rot  only  as  far  as  he  himself  had  been  able  to  observe  it,  but 
also  as  far  as — or  perhaps  a  little  farther  than — he  had  heard 
from  other  men. 

"  I  suppose,"  concluded  Hervey,  unobservant  of  the  effect 
of  his  words,  "  there  is  no  fellow  who  is  considered  so  good 
a  parti  this  season.  There  are  wealthier,  I  know,  and  men 
of  higher  birth,  of  course  ;  but,  taken  all  together,  there  is 
no  one  who  can  rival  Keith  with  match-making  mothers  or 
marriageable  daughters.  He  is  attractive,  they  say,  in  a 
hundred  ways,  besides  being  wealthy  and  of  good  position. 
Jle  is  undeniably  handsome — for  these  who  like  that  style," 
concluded  Captain  Hervey,  softly  pulling  his  fair  moustache  j 
"  and  he  is  clever,  I  suppose — people  say  so,  at  any  rate — 
and  he  seems  up  to  all  manly  exercises,  and  has  travelled  a 
great  deal.  Whatever  it  is,"  acceded  Hervey,  with  grucelui 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  243 

dismissal  of  the  subject-,  "he  is  certainly  as  much  thought 
of  and  sought  alter,  only  of  course  in  a  different  way,  a-- 
Honor  is  ;  and  really,  if  I  wore  not  a  privileged  person  in 
that  quarter,  Lawrence,  I  should  never  get  near  Honor,  go 
much  in  request  is  she  always." 

Lawrence  smiled  a  little  grimly  ;  he  was  not  a  man  to  be 
taken  in  by  Hervey's  arrogant  conceit,  and  knew  Honor  far 
too  well  to  heed  the  insinuation  ;  but  the  very  knowledge 
which  prevented  any  fear  of  Captain  Trent,  made  him  feel 
all  the  more  what  Hervey  had  told  him  of  Koyden,  and 
made  his  jealousy  more  keen  and  bitter  in  that  comparison 
jetween  Honor  and  Mr.  Keith. 

"There's  another  matter  which  aoVls  to  Keith's  popu- 
larity here,"  said  Hervey,  though  Lawrence  had  turned 
sharply  round,  as  if  the  conversation  had  become  tedious  ; 
"  that  is,  the  current  report  of  the  good  he  does  on  his  estate 
at  Westleigh.  I  dare  eay  the  rumours  are  as  much  exagge- 
rated as  other  rumours — but  they  go  down.  Here  you  stop, 
do  you  ?  " 

Yes,  Mr.  Haughton  decidedly  stopped  here.  He  had 
enjoyed  Captain  Trent's  society  quite  long  enough,  and 
even  Captain  Trent  himself  would  have  been  roused  to  a 
little  anxiety  if  he  had  been  able  to  perceive  the  harmful 
effect  of  his  words  as  a  preparation  for  the  visit  Lawrence 
Haughton  intended  to  pay. 

When  Pierce  entered  his  master's  presence  to  announce 
Mr.  Haughton,  Ro^den  was  wide  awake  again,  and  had 
already  answered  one  or  two  of  those  letters  which  had  con- 
tained something  more  important  than  invitations.  He 
glanced  up  in  surprise  to  see  that  Mr.  Haughton  personally 
followed  his  card  ;  then  he  slowly  rose,  with  a  grave,  cold 
bow,  and  waited  for  Mr.  Haughton  to  speak. 

"  Doubtless  you  are  surprised  to  see  me,  Mr.  Keith  ?  " 

"  Very  rarely,"  said  Eoyden,  with  his  quiet  courtesy, 
"  does  anything  surprise  me,  Mr.  Haughton." 

"When  I  saw  you  last,  or,  rather,  when  I  last  called 
flpon  you,"  resumed  Lawrence,  plunging  at  once  into  the 
subject,  as  if  he  saw  how  unnecessary  any  introduction 
would  be,  "  I  made  come  inquiries,  if  you  recollect,  about 
your  possible  cognisance  of  the  hiding-place  of  Gabriel 
Myddelton." 


244  CLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

«« I  recollect  it  well." 

Mr.  Keith  had  resumed  his  chair  ;  but  the  lawyer  had 
pushed  his  aside,  as  if  he  saw  an  advantage  in  standing 
sternly  on  the  rug. 

"  Since  then,"  he  resumed,  in  his  harsh,  elaborate  tones, 
*  I  have  myself  obtained  a  clue  to  the  present  whereabouts 
of— old  Mr.  Myddel ton's  murderer." 

A  slight  change  in  the  handsome  dark  face  opposite — a 
change  to  surprise,  and  even  to  fear,  but  so  slight  that 
Lawrence,  a  moment  afterwards,  could  not  feel  sure  that  he 
had  seen  it. 

"You  merit  my  congratulations,"  remarked  Royden, 
coolly,  "in  having  at  last  achieved  your  object.  Of  course 
you  know  your  clue  to  be  worth  following,  or  you  would 
not  waste  your  valuable  time." 

The  lawyer  was  gazing  with  unfeigned  astonishment  into 
Hoyden's  face.  In  all  his  professional  experience  no  man 
had  ever  puzzled  him  as  this  man  did. 

"  I  would  first  ask  you,"  he  said,  less  for  the  purpose  of 
gaining  time  than  in  his  desire  to  feel  his  way  cautiously  to 
a  certain  point  in  the  conversation,  "  whether  you  have  not 
yourself  sufficient  knowledge  on  thig  gubject.  If  so,  my  in- 
formation may  prove  wearisome." 

"No  information  on  this  subject,"  observed  Royden, 
frankly  meeting  the  lawyer's  supercilious  gaze,  "can  be 
wearisome  to  me,  Mr.  Haughton." 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  heard."  Lawrence 
had  seated  himself  at  last,  but  he  sat  firm  and  upright, 
determined  to  exhibit  in  every  way  the  inflexibility  of  his 
nature,  and  his  gaze  was  so  fixed  that  no  change  upon  his 
listener's  face  could  escape  him  now.  "  I  have  heard  that 
Gabriel  Mjddelton  is,  and  has  been  for  some  time,  in 
England." 

]S'o  answer. 

"In  England,"  repeated  Lawrence,  forcibly. 

"  Bash,"  remarked  Mr.  Keith,  with  easy  unconcern.  "  fefc, 
ever  since  Gabriel  M}ddel  ton's  story  was  related  to  me,  1  havfl 
given  him  credit  lor  a  caution  which  amounted  to  tiiuiiiity." 

"  And  not  only  do  I  believe  him  to  be  in  England,"  con« 
tinned  Lawrence,  hardly  able  to  suppress  his  wrath,  "  but  I 
believe  him  to  be  here — in  London." 


OLD  MYJJDELTON'S  MOSEY.  245 

**  Naturally,"  remarked  Royden,  with  the  utmost  compo- 
lure.  "  It  is  considered  easy  to  escape  detection  in  a  crowd." 

"  lie  is  not  in  London  for  that  purpose,"  returned  Law- 
rence, with  keen  emphasis,  "for  before  coming  here  he 
Brayed  for  a  time  close  to  the  very  scene  of  f-he  murder." 

"  Still  more  rash  !  " 

"  In  a  very  i^crowded  country  town,"  concluded  Mr. 
Haughton,  with  greater  emphasis. 

"  Kinbury  ? "  inquired  his  listener.  And  at  this  moment 
there  broke  upon  his  lips  one  of  his  rare  smiles — a  smile 
which  certainly  Lawrence  llaughton  could  not  understand. 

"  Yes,  in  Kinbury,"  repeated  the  lawyer.  "  Gabriel  Myd- 
Jelton  was,  I  hear,  staying  during  the  latter  months  of  the 
year  71  at  the  Royal  Hotel,  in  Kinbury." 

"  Strange,"  mused  Royden,  slowly  raising  his  clear  and 
thoughtful  eyes,  "  for  I  was  myself  staying  at  the  Royal 
Hotel,  in  Kinbury,  during  that  very  time." 

An  inexplicable  and  ominous  pause.  Mr.  Haughton's 
gaze  intent  and  watchful ;  Mr.  Keith's  questioning  and  a 
little  quizzical.  The  whole  suspicion  of  the  man  before 
him  was  read  now,  as  well  as  the  jealous,  passionate  purpose 
which  stirred  him  more  than  the  suspicion.  Yet  Lawrence 
could  read  nothing  beyond  the  one  humiliating  fact,  that 
his  own  motives  and  designs  were  comprehended  fully  anil 
entirely.  But  surely  the  fact  he  had  just  affirmed  must 
Btir  this  man  to  the  very  soul.  Could  he  attempt  to  keep 
up  any  deception  after  this  ? 

Waiting  to  see,  Lawrence  maintained  a  marked  silence 
Thp  pause  would  betray  as  much  as  any  speech,  and  he 
..  .uld  rather  his  companion's  words  should  break  it.  But 
Royden  had  evidently  no  intention  of  breaking  it. 

"  Yes,"  remarked  Lawrence,  having  waited  as  long  as  he 
could  afford  to  wait  in  vain,  "you  were  staying  at  the 
Royal  Hotel  in  Kinbary  at  that  time.  Is  it  odd  that,  know- 
ing this,  and  being  unaware  of  any  other  stranger  sojourn- 
ing there,  too,  I  shculd  connect  in  my  mind  the  man  of 
whose  presence  I  there  heard,  with  the  man  whose  presence 
there  I  saw  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  follow  you*  B0  distinct,  if  vou  please,  in  con- 
sideration for  my  ignorance  on  this  to^ic.  With  wnoee 
presence  did  >  v>u  connect  mine  § '? 

P 


346  OLD  MYDDELTON*8  MONET. 

"  With  that  of  Gabriel  Myddelton." 

The  words,  especially  the  last  two,  were  tittered  with 
unusual  distinctness.  Lawrence,  though  COIIHMOUS  of 
reserving  in  his  own  hands  the  final  move  for  checkmate, 
did  not  enjoy  thei-e  constant  preliminary  checks  which  his 
companion  dealt  him  in  so  leisurely  a  manner. 

"  Gabriel  Myddelton  ?  " — Royden  repeated  the  name 
lazily,  stooping  his  head  the  while  to  pick  up  a  letter  which 
had  fallen  to  the  carpet—"  Was  he  staying  in  Kinbury 
during  a  part  of  September,  October,  and  November,  of 
1871?" 

"  He  was,  so  I  am  assured." 

"  Were  you  aware  of  it  at  the  time  ?" 

"  I  felt  confident  of  it  even  then,"  returned  Mr.  Haughton, 
imitating  his  companion's  manner,  now  that  he  felt  it  was 
his  turn  to  cry  check  ;  "  but  my  proofs  then  were  not  so 
strong  and  conclusive  as  they  are  now." 

"  May  I  inquire  if  they  are  quite  strong  and  conclusive 
now?" 

Mr.  Haughton's  face  darkened  perceptibly.  This  question 
touched  his  one  weak  point ;  the  attempt  to  strengthen 
which  point  had  employed  him,  and  held  back  this  infor- 
mation, for  nine  months. 

"May  I  ask  you,"  repeated  Royden,  compo?edly,  "  if  your 
evidence  now  is  quite  strong  and  conclusive  ?  " 

Lawrence  no  longer  hesitated  over  the  answer  which  was 
his  move  for  checkmate. 

"Yes." 

"  Then  I  wish  you  had  told  me  at  the  time.  I  should 
yery  much  have  liked  to  see  him." 

Lawrence  rose  to  his  feet  in  an  outburst  of  wrath,  which, 
though  he  did  not  know  it,  was  leavened  heavily  with  fear 
of  defeat. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  this  parry ii.g  of  words  ?"  he  asked, 
in  his  stern,  harsh  tones.  "  You  make  me  speak  out,  while 
the  hint  would  have  been  sufficient  for  any  other  man.  From 
your  own  deductions,  if  you  cannot  catch  mine,  Gabriel 
Myddelton  was  staying  at  the  hotel  in  Kinhury  while  you 
were  there  ;  yet  one  fact  is  gleaned  from  the  hotel  books — 
oniy  one  stranger  put  up  there  for  that  unusually  lengthy 
Then  you  and  Gabriel  Myddeliou  are  ono." 


OLD  MYDDELTON'a    MONET.  24? 

He  had  said  it  at  last.  The  suspicion  of  nearly  a  year's 
growth  had  found  language  now,  and  neither  the  pallor  nor 
flush  of  conecious  guilt  had,  in  that  moment,  found  its  way 
to  Royden's  handsome  face. 

"  And  you  have  your  proof  now  ?  "  he  questioned,  as  he 
rose  and  laid  his  fingers  on  the  handle  of  the  bell. 

"  I  have  my  proof,"  retorted  Lawrence,  staunchly,  as  he 
stood  upon  the  rug  trying  to  shake  off  his  uneasiness  both 
of  face  and  attitude. 

"  That's  good,"  observed  Royden,  with  the  glimpse  of 
South  America  which  sometimes  peeped  out  in  tone  and 
accent ;  and  as  he  spoke  he  pulled  aside  the  bell-handle. 
"  When  you  make  an  assertion  it  is  good  to  be  able  to  prove 
it.  I  conclude  from  your  last  remark,  Mr.  Haughton,  that 
it  was  from  you  I  received,  some  time  ago,  an  anonymous 
letter  threatening  me  with  the  law  if  I  did  not  leave  this 
country.  Yes,  I  rang" —  he  had  turned  to  the  servant 
then,  and  his  tones  were  not  more  easy  and  unconcerned 
than  they  had  been  before — "  Call  a  cab  for  Mr.  Haughton." 
"  The  answer  to  that  cowardly  and  unsigned  letter,"  he 
resumed,  when  Pierce  had  closed  the  door  again,  "  I  will 
give  you  now.  I  do  not  choose  to  leave  any  country  at  your 
bidding.  You  offered,  I  believe,  in  that  letter— I  had  not 
the  patience  to  read  it  through,  but  I  understood  so  much — 
to  keep  this  onerous  secret  of  my  identity  with  the  murderer 
of  old  Mr.  Myddelton  of  Abbotsmoor,  if  I  would  leave 
England  at  once.  But  you  threatened,  if  I  would  not  do  so, 
to  betray  my  real  name  to  other  members  of  your  family  ; 
especially — if  I  understood  aright  this  was  a  very  emphatic 
especially — Miss  Honor  Craven.  I  do  not  ask  you  for  your 
motive,  because  it  has  been  clear  to  me  from  the  first,  but  I 
give  you  my  answer  once  for  all.  I  shall  not  in  any  way, 
either  by  my  absence  or  promise,  tamper  to  your  own  base 
ends  and  purposes.  As  for  that  one  fact  of  my  identity  with 
Gabriel  Myddelton,  bring  your  proof  when  you  are  bold 
enough  to  repeat  the  assertion." 

"  I  will,"  cried  Lawrence,  in  a  voice  of  suppressed  rage  ; 
*'*  and  remember  that  after  I  have  left  your  presence  to-day, 
it  will  be  too  late  for  you  to  avail  yourself  of  the  immunity 
I  have  offered  you.  I  shall  go  from  here  at  once  to  Misa 
Craven — I  say  to  her  first."  amended  Mr.  Haughton,  the 


218  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

colour  rising  in  his  moody  face,  as  he  brought  forward  thil 
nntrue  excuse,  "  as  being  now  the  most  in^uentinl  member 
of  the  family;  and  I  shall  lay  the  whole  deception  before 
her.  From  there  I  shall  go " 

"  Your  destination  is  a  matter  of  no  moment  at  all  to  me, 
sir.  And  your  cab  is  waiting." 

"  Then  you  refuse  this  compromise  ? "  blurted  out  Law- 
rence. 

Deficient  in  proof  as  he  felt  himself  to  be,  he  knew  that 
a  mutual  agreement  would  be  a  much  safer  and  speedier 
arrangement  for  him  than  the  arduous  following  up  of  this 
intangible  clue. 

"  I  refuse  all  idea  of  compromise  with  you,  Mr.  Haugh- 
ton.  I  do  not  even  understand  the  term  as  applicable 
between  us.  You  are  at  liberty,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
to  go  where  you  choose  and  to  say  what  you  choose.  You 
have,  for  months,  been  paving  the  way  for  this  disclosure  ; 
pray  finish  the  work  you  have  in  hand.  Need  I  remind 
you  once  again  that  your  cab  is  waiting  ?  " 

"  You  understand",  then,"  observed  the  lawyer,  with  a 
hard,  long  gaze  into  his  companion's  face,  "  that  your  real 
name  and  character  are  known  to  me,  and,  before  this  day 
is  over,  shall  be  known  to  others.  After  I  have  left  you,  it 
will  be  too  late  for  you  to  attempt  further  dissimulation." 

"  If  you  utter  one  word  move  ot'  this  kind  to  me,  sir," 
interrupted  Royden,  raising  himself  from  his  leaning  pos- 
ture against  the  chimney,  and  facing  Lawrence  Haughton 
with  his  long  dark  eyes  aflame,  "you  shall  answer  it  in  a 
way  you  little  anticipate.  Possibly  your  confidential  clerk 
and  ally  has  informed  you  how  he  was  punished  for  dogging 
my  footsteps  practically  as  you  have  dogged  them  theore- 
tically. Let  his  example  be  a  warning  to  you,  for  there  is 
but  one  way  of  dealing  with  dastardly  insinuations." 

"  I  shall  consider  now,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Haughton,  his 
clenched  fist  shaking  in  his  wrath,  and  his  lips  compressed 
<md  hard,  "  that  you  have  brought  upon  yourself  all  that 
follows.  I  would,  if  you  had  accepted  my  very  simple  con- 
ditions, have  guarded  your  secret.  If  you  had  left  England 
—and  no  one  knows  better  than  yourself  how  dangeroui 
for  you  is  every  hour's  sojourn  here — I  would  have  buried 
tiie  troth  u  safely  as  you  yourself  could  do." 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  24o 

"A  lawyer,!  believe,"  observed  Royden,  carelessly,  "under- 
stands the  meaning  of  such  a  term  as  misprision  of  felony." 

"  But — but,"  cried  Lawrence,  waxing  hotter  and  hotter, 
in  his  rage  at  the  insinuation,  and  because  there  dawned  no 
fckrn  of  acquiescence  in  the  proud,  still  face  opposite  him, 
"if  you  choose  to  persist  in  passing  yourself  off  as  a  man  of 
unblemished  character,  and  " 

"  Be  silent,  sir,"  interrupted  Royden ;  "  my  character  is 
not  in  your  hands  to  clear  or  blacken.  I  will  thank  you  to 
understand  that  our  interview  is  at  an  end.  I  have  no  word 
further  to  say  to  you,  unless  I  express  the  hope  that  in 
your  further  search  for  old  Mr.  Myddelton's  murderer  you 
may  be  able  to  secure  a  more  able  auxiliary  than  your 
cowardly  little  clerk,  and" — Royden's  eyes  under  thei? 
heavy  lashes  were  bright,  for  a  moment,  with  quizzical 
amusement — "  and  a  victim  more  easily  cowed,  and  duped 
and  driven,  than  myself.  Good  evening." 

With  the  last  words  he  turned  and  sauntered  to  the  win- 
dow, opening  the  door  as  he  passed  it.  The  lawyer  could 
not  fail  to  understand  the  scornful  hint,  and  he  walked 
towards  the  door,  his  heavy  step  heavier  than  usual. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said,  answering  with  a  scorn  equal 
to  Royden's,  though  savage  instead  of  cool.  "  All  which 
follows  this  interview,  you  have  brought  upon  yourself." 

No  answer  from  the  figura  standing  at  the  window,  and 
Mr.  Haughton  left  the  room  in  a  passion  which,  though 
suppressed,  boded  a  thorough  willingness  to  inflict  all  the 
suffering  which  lay  in  his  power  to  give. 

The  soft  dusk  of  the  May  night  filled  the  room  where 
Royden  sat  ;  the  letters  were  still  unwritten,  and  the  in- 
vitations  still  lay  unheeded.  Pierce  had  twice  been  in  to 
rouse  his  master  from  his  reverie,  but  Pierce's  master  was 
not  to  be  roused.  And,  if  Lawrence  Haughton  could  just 
then  have  re-entered  the  handsome  room,  his  feelings  of 
mortification  need  not  have  weighed  so  heavily  upon  that 
exhilarating  consciousness  of  approaching  revenge. 

"  Nine  o'clock,  sir.     Will  you  not  dress  ?  " 

The  valet  had  lighted  up  the  rooms  now,  and  knew  it  waa 
high  time  to  disturb  his  master  in  earnest. 

Royden  changed  his  seat,  aud  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  before 
biuu 


2wC  OLD  MYDDELTON'K  MONET. 

"Not  yet,  Pierce,"  he  said.  "T  will  ring  in  an  hour's  time 
If  I  ring  twice,  I  shall  want  one  of  the  grooms  to  dispatoh  a  tele- 
gram forme.  I  have  not  decided  vet  whether  I  will  go  myself." 

"  But  you  promised  to  go,  sir,  and  returned  on  purpose,*" 

"Where?" 

Pierce  explained  sedately.  It  had  never  struck  him  that 
his  master  could  have  meditated  any  journey  beyond  the 
drive  to  Sir  Philip  Somerson's  London  house. 

Royden  looked  absently  up  from  his  writing  while  the  ex- 
planation was  given.  Then  he  said  he  had  not  decided. 
With  this  unusually  curt  reply,  the  valet  had  to  be  content  ; 
but  so  unused  was  he  to  any  changeable  conduct  in  his 
master,  that  his  surmises  were  many. 

"  He  returned  on  purpose  for  this  ball,"  so  the  valet's 
musings  ended  ;  "  and  I  don't  see  what  need  have  changed 
his  decision.  I  wish  I  hadn't  promised  Mr.  Haughton 
admission  until  I  knew  it  was  the  master's  wish  to  see  him 
I  always  dread  those  telegrams  for  Westleigh,  because  1 
believe  he'd  bear  anything  rather  than  harass  her.  I  don't 
like  that  quiet,  haughty  look  of  his  to-night ;  it  mean 
Buffering  for  the  master." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

We  have  received  your  letters  full  of  love  .  .  . 
And  in  our  maiden  council  rated  them  .  .  . 
As  bombast. 

Love's  Labour  Loti* 

HONOE  was  holding  a  kind  of  festival  at  the  Kensington 
mansion,  on  the  arrival  of  Phoebe  Owen.  When  it  was 
possible,  Honor  always  did  make  her  welcome  quite  a 
festive!  ;  and  many  an  extra  grain  of  pleasure  and  of  happi- 
ness could  she  thus  infuse  into  the  visits  which  were  paid 
her.  The  freshness  and  earnest  cordiality  of  the  girl'a 
nature  showed  themselves  in  a  strong  light  this  evening, 
while  she  devoted  herself  with  an  almost  comical  excitement 
to  make  this  arrival  a  matter  of  rejoicing. 

And  even  Phosbe,  through  all  her  wondering  admirntioi 
of  Honor's  grandeur,  and  iu  the  midst,  of  her  0*11  self-con 


OLD  anDDELTON'S   MONET.  251 

centrated  anticipations,  could  still  notice  how  the  old  quaint 
brightness  clung  to  Honor  still,  and  wondered,  almost  to  af 
earnest  purpose,  why  Honor  should  make  a  fuss  over  thfc 
coming  of  her  poor  cousin,  when  there  were  so  many  servant*1 
in  the  house, 

"Aren't  we  snug,  Phoebe  ?" 

The  question  came  from  Honor,  as  they  sat  at  tea  together 
in  one  of  her  own  private  sitting-rooms — a  bright  and 
luxurious  apartment,  glistening  with  satin  and  silver,  and 
looking  like  a  fairy  palace  to  Phoebe. 

"  Yes,  very  snug,"  she  said  ;  but  the  tone  was  almost 
dubious  in  her  wonder.  Could  it  really  be  Honor,  looking 
so  lovely,  and  moving  about  so  thoroughly  at  home  in  this 
beautiful  house  ?  And  could  it  really  be  herself  who  was 
entertained  here  so  grandly,  and  yet  made  to  feel  as  if  she 
had  reached  her  own  home  ? 

"  I  hadn't  any  messages  to  bring  you,  Honor,"  she  re- 
marked, presently,  with  her  characteristic  want  of  tact  ; 
"  neither  Jane  nor  Lawrence  sent  any,  and  I  saw  no  one 
else  who  knew  I  was  coming." 

"  Were  Lawrence  and  Jane  at  home  when  you  left  ?  " 

"  No  ;  Lawrence  went  away  yesterday.  He  had  said, 
from  the  first,  that  I  was  welcome  to  go  where  I  chose.  But 
Jane  was  at  home  when  I  started,  and  she  barely  touched 
my  hand.  Oh,  Honor  !  " 

And  for  the  second  time  since  her  arrival  Phoebe  burst 
into  excited  tears. 

Quietly  and  soothingly  Honor  led  the  conversation  away 
from  their  old  home,  guessing  how  sore  Phosbe's  heart 
would  be  at  any  reminder  of  her  guardian's  neglect.  She 
never  for  one  moment  suspected  that  Phoebe  had  come  to 
her  with  any  hope  of  being  nearer  Lawrence  than  she  hud 
been  in  the  chill  and  distant  reserve  of  his  own  house  ;  she 
only  understood,  what  Phoebe  herself  told  her,  that  the  old 
home  life  had  grown  unbearable,  and  that  her  cousin  had 
come  to  her  for  a  refuge,  both  from  Lawrence  Haughton'i 
morose  neglect  and  his  sister's  hard  displeasure. 

"  As  for  Hervey,"  said  Phoebe,  a  smile  struggling  through 
her  tears,  as  Honor  led  her  so  talk  of  the  family  at  Deer- 
grove,  "  we  don't  see  much  of  him.  He  is  always  with  you, 
isn't  he,  Honor  ? " 


252  OLD    MYDDELTOV8  MONET. 

"  Tf  so,  he  will  be  with  you  too,"  smiled  Honor  ;  "  BO  yon 
will  see.  At  any  rate,  he  is  going  with  us  to-night  to  Lad/ 
fctomerson's." 

"  Oh,  I  cannot,"  gasped  Phoebe,  the  old  affliction  strong 
opon  her  ;  "  I  have  no  dress." 

"  Wait  and  see,"  said  Honor,  with  a  kiss;  "  there  are  some 
garments  in  your  dressing-room,  little  Frau,  which  we  are 
going  to  investigate  presently  ;  and  if  you  don't  look " 

She  had  paused  to  take  a  card  from  the  salver  which  a 
footman,  entering  softly,  handed  to  her.  Her  eyes  had 
fallen  carelessly  enough  upon  the  name,  but  then  they  had 
darkened,  and  as  she  took  np  the  card  her  finders  covered  it. 

"  I  will  come  to  the  library,"  she  said,  dismissing  the 
man  with  a  glance.  "  I  must  go  downstairs  for  a  few 
minutes,  Phcebe,"  she  added,  rising  and  holding  the  card 
still  hidden  in  her  hand.  "Take  care  of  yourself  until  I 
come  back  in  a  few  minutes'  time." 

Phcebe  nodded  from  her  large  arm-chair,  still  full  of 
wonder  at  the  quiet,  gracious  bearing  which  seemed  natural 
to  Honor  now,  while  she  was  still  just  the  bright  and  girlish 
Honor  of  old  days. 

"  If  I  had  changed  my  dress  I  could  have  come  too,"  sh« 
remarked,  plaintively. 

"  It  would  be  too  bad  if,  in  the  very  hour  of  your  arrival, 
you  began  helping  me  to  receive  my  visitors  ;  you  will  have 
abundance  of  such  tasks  presently.  But  see,"  Honor  con- 
tinued, as  the  door  opened  again,  "  you  are  to  have  the  task 
of  entertaining,  after  all.  Hervey,  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
though  you  are  very  early.  I  said  '  Dinner  at  eight.' " 

"  1  know,"  said  Hervey,  deprecatingly  ;  "  but  you  told 
me  I  might  come  early,  and  of  course  you  knew  I  should." 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  came.  Phcebe  will  give  you  some 
tea  while  I  run  away  for  a  minute." 

"  A  lady  has  called  to  see  her,  I  think,"  explained  Phcebe, 
as  she  took  her  place  at  the  tea-table,  with  a  new  shyness 
which  gave  her  a  new  gentleness  too. 

"  No  lady,"  rejoined  Captain  Hervey,  moodily.  "  It  11 
Uaughton,  who  is  waiting  for  her  below." 

Phcebe  raised  her  wide,  round  eyes  in  alarm,  and  forgot 
Oaptnin  Trent's  tea — a  mutter  to  which  he  was  utterly 
inditlorenL 


OLD  MYDDLLTON'S  MONET.  253 

"  Oh,  Hervey,"  she  stammered  at  last,  "  he  has  come  for 
toe!" 

"  Not  he,"  said  Hervey,  quite  indifferently,  though  with 
out  his  old  lazy  scorn  of  her  speeches. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  1 — f  must  see  him  ;  and  yet,  if 
he  takes  me  back  to  Jane  !  Oh,  Honor  will  be  so  vexed  if 
he  is  come  for  me !  " 

"  Less  vexed,  I  should  fancy,"  rejoined  Hervey,  anxiously 
turning  his  eyes  to  the  door,  "  than  if  he  had  come  for 
another  purpose.  Don't  fret,  Phoebe,"  he  cried,  with 
kindness  ;  "  there  is  no  fear  of  Lawrence  taking  you  back  to 
Jane." 

She  had  collected  herself  then,  and  made  an  effort  to  do 
tfie  honours  gracefully.  Hervey  Trent,  standing  upon  the 
rug,  and  longing  for  the  return  of  Honor,  had  yet  time  to 
notice  that  Phoebe  was  not  so  heavy  as  she  used  to  be,  and 
that  perhaps,  if  she  dressed  like  Honor,  and  did  not  fall  back 
on  her  old  ecstatic  tricks,  but  could,  by  some  marvellous 
means,  acquire  a  composed  demeanour,  he  should  not  object 
to  take  her  under  his  wing,  just  occasionally,  when  Honor 
particularly  wished  it. 

"  Of  course  it  gives  a  man  prestige  to  take  Honor,"  he 
mused  ;  "  and,  if  Phoebe  improves,  she  won't  do  much  harm." 

Wondering  how  far  such  improvement  might  be  possible, 
he  condescended  to  exert  himself  a  little  during  their  tete-a- 
tete  ;  and  Phoebe,  too  much  astonished  at  any  attentions 
from  her  languid  cousin  to  exert  herself  at  all,  pleased  him 
more  than  she  could  ever  have  done  with  her  exclamator, 
style  of  converse.  So  they  were  friendly  and  easy,  as  Honor 
had  hoped  they  would  be,  almost  before  she  had  closed  the 
library  door  behind  her,  and  stood  in  the  presence  of  her  old 
guardian,  fresh  from  that  mortifying  visit  of  his  to  Hoyden 
Keith. 

Lawrence  stood  looking  from  the  window  in  the  handsome 
library,  just  as  he  had  stood  in  his  fear  of  looking  at  Honor 
when  she  came,  in  her  beauty  and  her  freshness,  to  the 
wearied,  mortified  watchers  for  Lady  Lawrence  ;  and  jusfc 
as  he  feared  to  let  the  old  weakness  master  him  then,  he 
feared  to  let  it  master  him  now,  but  with  a  still  more 
lUiugerous  and  guilty  purpose. 

Some  faint  fear  of  his  purpose  she  gleamed  from  his  face 


254  OLD  MYDDELTON'8  MONET. 

when  he  turned  to  greet  her,  and  for  a  moment  she  wished 
khe  had  not  answered  the  request  upon  his  card  to  gee  him 
alone.  Only  for  a  moment ;  then  her  courage  came  back 
to  her,  and  she  waited  quietly  for  what  he  had  to  say. 

"  Honor,"  he  began,  making  an  effort  to  put  aside  one 
certain  thought,  and  ask  with  ease  a  question  whose  answer 
might  make  that  thought  unnecessary — "  Honor,  all  my 
letters  to  you  have  been  so  long  unheeded  that  I  am  come 
myself  now  for  their  answer." 

"  There  is  no  answer,"  said  Honor,  quietly. 

"  No  answer  ?  "  He  repeated  the  words  sharply,  while  he 
jaoved  towards  her  with  a  quick,  impatient  step.  "  What 
do  you  mean,  Honor  ?  " 

"  I  mean  simply  what  I  say,"  she  answered,  raising  her 
clear  eyes  to  his  face.  "They  all  told  the  same  old  story  ;  and 
from  the  first,  as  you  know  full  well,  that  story  wearied  me 
beyond  words." 

"  You  were  a  petulant  child  then,  Honor,"  he  said,  curb- 
ing his  yoice  with  a  strong  effort  ;  "  you  are  a  woman  now, 
and  can  appreciate  such  devotion  as  I  offer — a  man's  strong 
aid  deeply-rooted  love,  not  a  boy's  wayward  affection  " 

No  answer  in  his  pause,  and  he  came  still  nearer  to  her 
on  the  hearth,  his  chest  heaving,  his  fingers  clenched  as  his 
hands  hung  beside  him. 

"  Honor,  you  will  recall  this  day  with  pity  for  yourself,  if 
yon  send  me  from  you  with  such  answer  as  you  try  to 
utter  now.  I  am  not  one  to  lightly  give  and  take  my  love. 
It  must  be  successful,  after  these  years  of  waiting,  or  I  can- 
not calmly  stand  aside  and  see  my  love  give  her  hand  to 
another — as  I  have  known  idiots  do.  Why  should  I  alone 
be  miserable,  when  the  misery  is  your  fault  ?  I  have  given 
you  too  much  to  be  patient  at  no  return,  I  have  not  loved 
you  for  your  wealth — you  know  that ;  and  you  know  it 
of  no  one  else  I  loved  you  years  ago.  I  gave  you  all 
the  love  I  had,  when  you  were  poor  and  almost  friendless 
Who  else  has  done  so  ?  Those  men  who  fawn  upon  you  now 
care  nothing  fdr  yourself; — it  is  your  wealth  they  court" 

"  Lawrence,"  she  said,  stopping  him  with  an  appealing 
gesture,  and  a  look  of  real  pain  upon  her  face,  "please  do 
not  talk  of  this.  I  must  make  once  more  my  old  request. 
Slou  were  iuy  guardian,  and  BO  1  have  borne  from  you  what 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S   MONEY.  255 

I  would  have  borne  from  no  one  else.  But  you  must  not 
speak  to  me  so  again,  or  our  friendship  must  be  broken  for 
ever." 

Keenly  watching  her  as  she  spoke,  he  read  aright — so  wel1 
he  knew  the  face  he  loved — the  hopelessness  of  his  ambi- 
tion. And  then  the  cruelty  of  his  despair  and  jealousy  rose 
up  and  took  his  words  in  its  sole  charge. 

"  If  you  had  listened  to  me,  and  answered  me  differently," 
he  cried,  "I  would  have  spared  you  all  I  could.  I  would 
have  spared  you  every  knowledge,  and  even  thought,  of 
crime  and  deception.  As  it  is,  you  shall  know  what  I  know  j 
• — then  you  will  see,  perhaps,  whose  love  is  worth  accepting, 

and  then Ah,  Honor,"  he  cried,  once  more  weak  in  his 

passion,  "  it  is  not  too  late  yet — I  have  not  spoken.  I  never 
need  speak,  if  you  will  only  promise  at  last  to  repay  my 
years  of  devotion." 

"  What  have  you  to  tell  me  of  crime  and  deception  ?" 

She  spoke  firmly,  but  her  hand  had  seized  the  back  of  a 
chair  beside  her,  and  her  eyes  had  gathered  a  terrible  fear 
under  their  drawn  brows. 

"  What  I  will  tell  you  to-night — now,"  he  cried,  passion- 
ately. "  You  have  raised  the  fiend  within  me,  and  you  shall 
know  all  that  I  know,  if — if  you  really  refuse  to  listen  to 
my  love." 

So  he  broke  off  once  more  to  plead,  in  the  madness  of  this 
selfish  and  ambitious  passion  he  called  love  ;  and  still  she 
answered  him  with  kindness  in  her  firm  refusal. 

Then,  in  the  heat  and  anger  of  this  blow,  for  which  he 
even  yet. was  unprepared,  there  came  from  his  stern  lip? 
that  information  on  the  effect  of  which  he  built  his  last 
desperate  hope — that  the  one  man  whose  name  she  never 
uttered  to  him,  yet  about  whom  his  suspicion  and  jealousy 
had  wrapped  themselves  with  a  strength  and  tenacity  which 
might  well  convince  him  of  their  truth,  was  the  man  con- 
victed, eleven  years  before,  for  the  murder  of  the  old  miser 
whose  wealth  she  now  possessed. 

"  The  man  who,  from  the  cell  where  he  lay  under  sentence 
of  death,  had  craftily  escaped  ;  and  now,  at  large  again,  was 
continuing  his  rascally  career." 

"  You  have  told  me  this  before,"  said  Honor,  "  only  per- 
haps not  quite  so  decidedly  and  circumstantial lv.  I  asked 


256  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY 

you  then  for  evidence  to  prove  the  trroa  of  what  yon 
asserted." 

"  Yes  ;  I  told  you  before,"  exclaimed  Lawrence,  mor« 
hastily  than  he  would  have  done  if  he  had  felt  full  relianc 
on  the  strength  of  the  clue  he  handled  sc  eagerly  and  un- 
certainly ;  "  and,  as  it  is  the  truth,  I  have  told  you  again.  I 
feel  myself  your  guardian  still,  Honor  ;  wid  I  cannot  let 
/on  be  duped  and  deceived  before  my  very  eyes." 

"  There  is  no  fear,"  said  Honor,  quietly  ;  "  and  this  you 
\rnow." 

"I  told  you  something  else  of  Gabriel  Myddelton,  last 
time  we  spoke  of  him,"  blurted  out  Mr.  Haughton,  nevtr 
trusting  himself  to  pause  between  his  speeches.  "  I  told 
you  he  was  a  married  man,  and  that  I  can  prove — unless  he 
is  guilty  of  another  crime,  as  base  in  some  men's  eyes  as 
the  murder  itself.  Ah  !  you  had  guessed  this  ?"  he  cried, 
excitedly,  as  he  read  her  face  with  shrewd  iutentness  ;  "you 
are  moved  at  last,  to  feel  that  you  have  counted  among  your 
friends  a  criminal  and  a  debauchee  ?  " 

"I  was  moved,"  said  the  girl,  knowing  how,  for  one 
moment,  her  courage  had  deserted  her  because  her  thoughts 
flew  back  to  that  one  day  she  had  spent  at  Westleigh  Towers, 
"  I  was  moved  by  an  old  memory.  Please  leave  me  now; 
I  do  not  want  to  hear  another  word  of — Gabriel  Myddelton." 

"Nor  to  see  him  again — do  you,  Honor?"  cried  Mr. 
Haughton,  in  the  excitement  of  his  sudden,  selfish  hope. 
"  You  must  shrink  even  from  looking  on  a  man  who  forces 
his  way  into  society  under  false  pretences,  with  a  f'a'-e  name 
and  false  character — a  reckless  scoundrel  who  dares  his  latu.' 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking,  Lawrence  ?  " 

He  started  at  the  cold,  proud  tone. 

"Of  Gabriel  Myddelton,  or  Roytien  Keith — as  v<-»  -rill  ?" 

"You  say  Gabriel  Myddelton  is  daring  his  fate  under  ihe 
false  name  of  Royden  Keith,  of  Wsstleigh  Towers  ?  Then 
is  the  society  in  which  he  is  received  so  blind,  and  dense, 
and  easily  duped  as  that  ?  Tell  me  how  this  name  and  the 
estate  of  Westleigh  Towers  belong  to  Gabriel  Myddelton  ? 
Would  not  any  account  of  the  landed  gentry  show  you  the 
pedigree  of  Royden  Keith,  of  Westleigh  Towers  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Lawrence,  with  a  ready  sneer,  "  else  do  you 
think  I  would  have  been  for  one  hour  in  doubt  ?  The  last 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  2,">7 

possessor  of  "Westleigh  Towers,  an  old  man  in  his  dotage, 
having  no  heir,  left  his  estate  and  property  to  a  young  man 
•who  paid  him  all  sorts  of  interested  attentions  during  the 
last  few  months  of  his  life.  They  met  in  Germany,  where 
old  Mr.  Keith  died.  He  belonged  to  a  good  family,  and  tho 
young  man  to  whom  he  took  this  idiotic  fancy,  and  to  whom 
he  left  his  name  as  well  as  his  wealth,  reaps  the  benefit  ot 
that.  What  is  stated  as  his  previous  name  is  of  course  of 
no  importance  to  us,  as  it  was  in  his  power  to  give  any  lie 
he  chose  ;  and  as  for  the  pedigree  they  may  have  chosen  to 
.nvent  for  this  unknown,  nameless  fellow,  why,  only  an  idiot 
would  rely  upon  it." 

"  Could  you  not  trace  it  without  regard  to  printed  state- 
ments ?  "  asked  Honor,  carried  away  by  her  own  earnestness. 
"  Could  you  not  prove  Royden  Keith  to  have  been  an 
honourable  English  gentleman  before  he  took  the  honoured 
name  he  bears  ?  " 

"  No,"  returned  the  lawyer  promptly  ;  "  no  one  could 
prove  that." 

"  Can  no  one,  at  any  rate,  prove  who  he  was  ?— for  you 
have  not  done  so,  Lawrence." 

"  I  have  satisfied  myself,''  returned  Mr  Haughton,  be- 
traying his  own  weak  point  by  the  very  impatience  of  his 
reply  ;  "  I  can  do  no  more." 

"In  that  case,"  said  Honor,  gravely,  "/will  have  it  done  " 

He  gazed  at  her  steadily  and  keenly  ;  but  the  swift 
thought  that  she  must  be  in  jest  could  only  live  for  one 
instant  He  read  in  her  face  the  earnest  purpose  which 
(though  he  did  not  know  it)  had  been  for  so  long  quietly 
pursued  ;  and  he  saw  that  her  motive  was  generous,  and  that 
her  search  would  be  directed  so  that  no  shadow  of  suspicion 
should  rest  where  he  had  crowded  it.  Reading  this,  he  saw 
more  plainly  than  he  had  ever  seen  them,  even  in  his  fre- 
quent moments  of  depression,  the  flaws  in  his  own  evidence, 
and  the  yawning  chasm  which  broke  his  straight  advance 
towards  the  longed-for  identification  of  old  Myddelton'a 
Murderer  with  Royden  Keith. 

"  Honor,"  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  desperate  appeal,  as  he 
felt  his  hold  sliding  from  him,  and  knew  that  only  truth 
tad  justice  could  weigh  aught  with  her,  "  let  this  subject 
reat  between  us.  He  is  not  worthy  of  one  thought  of 


258  OLD   MYDDKLTON'S  MONET. 

yorrrs  ;  and — and,  Honor,  I  will  say  no  word  of  his 
again  if  you  will  only  give  me  the  love  I  ask.  He  shall  go 
nnconvicted  and  unsuspected — I  promise  it.  I  swear  ir,. 
No  one  in  England  shall  know  that  he  is  other  than  the 
man  he  pretends  to  be,  if  you  will  only  give  me  the  answer 
I  have  sought  in  those  letters.  "Will  you,  Honor  ?  Will 
you,  my  darling  ?  " 

"  Long  ago  I  gave  you  my  answer  to  those  letters,"  she 
•aid.  "  I  have  no  other  to  give  now  or  ever  ;  and  you  will 
not,  I  trust,  ever  write  such  to  me  again,  for  I  do  not  like 
to  have  to  burn  my  cousin's  letters  nnread,  and  such  aa 
those  I  must  treat  so." 

"  Then,  if  you  burn  my  letters,''  cried  Lawrence,  pas- 
sionately, "  I  must  come  myself,  for  you  shall  listen  to  me 
at  last.  You  shall  feel  that  no  one  could  ever  love  you  as 
I  love  you." 

"  That  is  enough,  Lawrence.  When  I  have  found  the 
clue  I  seek,  I  will  send  to  you." 

"I  could  help  you  in  this,  Honor,"  he  urged,  eagerly; 
"  you  will  need  such  help  as  I  can  give.  Take  my  services, 
and  I  will  promise  " 

"No,  thank  you,"  replied  Honor,  gently  ;  and  she  stood 
with  an  unmistakable  desire  for  his  departure. 

But,  if  he  saw  the  hint,  he  did  not  take  it.  Once  more, 
and  as  desperately  as  if  he  felt  it  would  be  the  last  time,  he 
urged  that  wearisome  plea  of  his,  every  repetition  of  which 
hfrknew  to  be  real  pain  to  her. 

And  still  she  parted  from  him  kindly  at  last,  remember- 
ing that  he  was  her  cousin,  and  had  been  her  guardian,  and 
forgetting,  by  a  generous  effort,  that  he  was  the  selfish  and 
jealous  suitor  "  whose  love-suit  had  been  to  her  as  fearful  as 
a  siege." 


CHAPTER 

I,  then,  all  smarting  with  my  wounds  being  cold, 

To  be  BO  pestered  with  a  popinjav, 

Answered  neglectingly  I  know  not  what.          Henry  IV* 

LADY  SOMERRON'S  balls  were  always  amoeg  the  pleasantest 
and  most  brilliant  of  the  season,  and  no  one  felt  that  thii 


OLD  MYDDELTON'B  MONET.  $6) 

first  ball  of  the  spring  of  '72  would  be  an  exception  to  the 
rule.  As  host  and  hostess  Sir  Philip  Somerson  and  his 
lady  had  no  rivals.  To  their  perfect  courtesy  and  high 
breeding  they  added  a  hearty  geniality  ;  to  their  thorough 
experience  of  the  world  of  fashion  they  added  real  freshness 
of  enjoyment ;  and  beyond  their  abundant  wealth  and  op- 
portunities, they  possessed  the  tact  to  discern  what  element* 
would  blend  in  their  assemblies,  and  form  one  gay  anc 
harmonious  whole.  Dancing  was  never  allowed  to  grow 
wearisome  in  Lady  Somerson's  house,  but  was  as  fresh  and 
keen  an  enjoyment  as  it  is  possible  to  be  in  May  and  June  ; 
music  was  never  pressed  upon  those  who  did  not  care  either 
to  listen  or  perform,  but  was  a  treat  and  rest,  as  music 
should  be.  Conversation  never  seemed  to  drag  or  droop, 
but  brightly  and  pleasantly  passed  through  the  different 
groups. 

"  I  should  not  wonder" — so  her  ladyship  had  remarked  to 
her  husband  when  discussing  this  ball — "  if  it  does  not  turn 
out  eventually  to  have  been  the  best  ball  of  the  season." 

"  Nor  should  I,  my  dear,"  assented  Sir  PhiJip,  cordially  ; 
"yours  generally  do." 

But  this  was  only  an  anticipation,  and  whether  this  had 
been  the  best  ball  of  the  season  could  only  be  decided  when 
the  brilliant  rooms  had  shrunk  into  a  dejected  condition  o( 
holland  and  cobwebs,  and  the  tale  of  some  few  lives  had 
been  told. 

But  who  could  dream  to-night  of  cobwebs  in  these  rooms  ? 
Who  could  picture  a  weary  ending  to  these^ives  ? 

"  I  think,"  mused  Lady  t'omerson,  looking  round  upon  the 
brilliant  scene,  with  a  dancing  light  in  her  kind  eyes,  "  that 
I  never  saw  more  happy  faces." 

"  Mrs.  Trent— Miss  Trent— Captain  Trent." 

The  start  which  the  hostess  gave  was  even  perceptible  to 
the  group  around  her,  but  in  an  instant  she  moved  forward 
to  greet  her  guests,  and  her  courteous  manner  betrayed 
neither  surprise  nor  want  of  cordiality. 

Mrs.  Trent  and  Theodora  had  been,  from  time  imme- 
morial, invited  regularly  to  Lady  Somerson's  balls,  aa 
country  neighbours  of  Sir  Philip's  ;  but  on  this  occasion 
Mre».  Trent  had  written  her  reply  from  Deergrove,  regretting 
that  she  and  her  daughter  were  not  likely  to  be  in  town  oj 


9<tt)  OLD   MYDDELTON  8  MONET. 

that  date.  So  Ladv  Somerson,  with  a  sigh  that  sotmoei 
laden  with  relief,  had  given  up  all  expectation  of  their  society ; 
and,  forgetting  that  the  note  had  been  so  worded  as  to  leavi 
the  invitation  open,  had  overlooked  their  possible  presence 
until  their  names  were  thus  suddenly  announced. 

Of  course  she  did  not  utter  a  word  of  surprise  on  seeing 
these  guests,  but  she  did  remark  quietly  to  her  husband, 
that  she  could  not  understand  why  Mrs.  Trent  and  bet 
daughter  should  come  up  to  London  so  suddenly  ;  and  that 
she  did  not  like  what  she  could  not  understand. 

Sir  Philip  laughed  a  little  over  her  logic,  only  observing 
that  it  was  rare  to  find  women  doing  what  one  could  under- 
gtand. 

"No,  I  do  not  like  it,"  reiterated  his  lady,  evidently 
puzzled.  "And  I  am  vexed,  too,  that  Mr.  Keith  IB  not 
some.  I  suppose  it  is  too  late  to  expect  him  now." 

Sir  Philip  laughed  again. 

"  Of  course  he  will  come,  for  he  promised.  But  why  are 
you  so  covetous  ?  You  have  plenty  of  young  men  here  now, 
wealthy,  young,  and  marriageable.  There  is  the  Duke  of 
Hartreigh,  what  more  can  you  wish  ?" 

"  I  wish  for  Mr.  Keith." 

The  host  and  hostess  separated  then,  and  presently  Lady 
Somerson  moved  aside  to  speak  to  Captain  Trent,  where  she 
could  not  be  overheard. 

"  The  arrival  of  your  aunt  and  cousin  was  a  surprise  " 
Hervey,"  she  said.  "  Had  you  known  they  were  in  Londun  ? '' 

"  Had  not  the  faintest  idea,"  returned  Hervey,  raising 
his  fair  eyebrows.  "  Only  last  night  I  left  them  at  Deer- 
grove." 

"  Indeed  ?  " 

Lady  Somerson  said  no  more,  and  to  Hervey  the  word 
Mid  her  ladyship's  glance  were  totally  devoid  of  expression 

"  They  telegraphed  for  me  as  soon  as  they  arrived,  and  ot 
course  I  was  obliged  to  go  and  escort  them  here,  though 
Honor  had  told  me  I  might  come  with  her  " 

"A  disappointment,"  smiled  Lady  Somerson,  "but  soot 
over.  It  was  all  one  when  you  reached  here." 

"  Not  quite,"  began  Hervey,  and  his  hostess  understood 
the  insinuation,  though  she  thought  it  best  to  ignore  it, 
because,  for  the  time,  both  he  and  Mrs  Trent  were  her  own 


OLD  MYDDELTCXtt'S  MONEY.  261 

guests.    She  walked  away  with  a  gvnile,  her  eyes  followin 
his  fretful  gaze. 

Honor  Craven,  her  beauty  matchless  among  many  bea 
tiful  and  graceful  forms,  her  dress  unexcelled  in  its  fairy 
elegance,  though  no  colour  relieved  it,  sat  in  a  perfect  crowd 
of  solicitous  cavaliers,  foremost  among  whom  was  the  young 
Duke,  on  whom  the  hopes  of  so  many  mothers  and 
daughters  were  fixed. 

"  The  girl  enjoys  it,"  mused  Lady  Somerson,  the  smile 
Btill  on  her  lips  ;  "  and  it  is  but  natural  to  her  girlhood  that. 
6he  should.  Yet  in  this  adulation,  constantly  reminded  as 
she  is  of  her  surpassing  beauty  and  her  marvellous  wealth, 
she  is  just  the  girl  she  was  in  her  guardian's  home  ;  always 
gentle,  and  obedient,  and  unselfish  ;  always  bright,  and 
perhaps  a  little  saucy.  Yet  even  now  I  can  see  that  she 
has  not  reached  her  height  of  happiness.  Yes,  though  sh* 
is  the  same  girl  I  loved  years  ago  in  her  lonely  orphanaue. 
she  has  grown  years  beyond  me  now,  and  I  feel  as  if  her  lite 
must  hold  many  a  pain  I  could  not  comprehend  ;  but  it  will 
hold  joys  too — joys  too,  if  God  please." 

Captain  Trent  had  kept  beside  his  hostess,  and  his  face 
brightened  with  the  realisation  of  his  hope  when  she  paused 
in  the  coterie  surrounding  Honor,  and  the  girl  joined  her 
with  delight. 

"  Listen  ! — what  a  valse  !  "  cried  the  hostess,  presently, 
with  a  mischievous  glance  at  Hervey,  who  was  making 
strenuous  but  futile  efforts  to  exhibit  himself  as  a  shining 
light  in  the  jest  and  badinage  which  made  the  group  so 
merry  a  one.  "  I  must  not  forget  myself  and  linger  here  ; 
but  I  shall  return  presently  to  see  if  you  have  all  f  jund 
partners." 

And  so  saying,  Lady  Somerson  glided  on,  to  assist  shy 
men  and  bashful  maidens.  The  Duke  of  Uartreigh,  in  a 
state  of  sudden  excitement,  apparently  awaking  to  the  fact 
that  the  blissful  hours  were  passing  away,  and  he  had  not 
/et  had  one  dance,  pleaded  with  Miss  Craven  for  the  honour 
of  her  hand.  Hervey  came  forward,  more  eagerly  still,  to 
claim  now  the  fulfilment  of  her  promise  to  him  ;  and  a  host 
of  other  partners  stood  waiting  for  her  refusal,  that  their 
own  claims  might  be  advanced.  Pleasantly,  though  promptly, 
Honor  declined  his  Grace's  arm ;  but  his  Grace  utili 


26!!  OLD   MYDDELTOS'S   MONEY. 

bovered  beside  her,  finding  a  greater  charm  in  her  proximity 
thun  any  which  the  brilliant  suite  of  rooms  could  otherwise 
afford  him. 

"  Mr.  Keith." 

In  the  midi-t  of  his  flattering  nonsense,  the  young  duke 
paused  with  a  sadden  surprise,  which  all  his  native  courtesy 
failed  to  hide  ;  for,  when  the  simple  name  of  this  late  guest 
had  been  announced,  Honor's  face  had  inexplicably,  yet 
unmistakably,  changed  ;  over  its  glowing  brilliancy  a 
strange,  still  look  had  fallen ;  her  beautiful  eyes  had 
saddened,  although  it  was  only  for  one  moment  that  they 
had  left  his  face  ;  and  her  lips  had  met  in  a  quivering  com- 
pression. Now,  when  she  set  aside  his  entreaty  to  dance, 
she  did  it  even  more  quietly  than  before  ;  but  he  felt, 
beyond  a  doubt,  that  this  negative  was  decisive. 

The  Duke  stood  moodily  watching  this  late  comer.  He 
knew  him  well,  and  liked  him  very  little,  for  in  his  presence, 
as  in  the  presence  of  no  other  m°n,  the  Duke  of  Hartreigh 
felt  a  sensation  of  jealousy  which  was  as  unusual  to  him  as 
it  was  unpleasant.  Yes,  he  could  even  be  jealous  of  a 
man  who  looked  so  often,  as  he  looked  to-night,  chastened 
in  heart  and  soul  ;  because  he  always  stood,  as  he  stood  to- 
night, pre-eminently  distinguished  even  in  a  distinguished 
throng. 

"  Honor,"  entreated  Captain  Trent,  "  do  give  me  this 
valse — you  promised  me  one." 

"  Do  not  ask  me,  Hervey,"  she  urged  gently,  and  almost 
•adly,  "  I  could  not  valse  just  now." 

A  few  of  the  hopeless  satellites  moved  away  to  seek  other 
partners  for  the  dance  ;  and  Honor,  turning  aside  where  her 
eyes  could  not  fall  on  Royden,  let  Hervey  lead  her  where  he 
would. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  say  exactly  how  it  happened, 
but  as  soon  as  Royden  Keith  and  his  hostess  separated,  he 
found  himself  beside  Theodora  Trent,  taking  her  outstretched 
hand,  and  answering  the  many  questions  which  flowed  in 
succession  from  her  smiling  lips.  Mrs.  Trent  pointed  her 
fan  affably  to  a  vacant  seat  beside  her,  and  Royden,  in  hia 
easy  courtesy,  took  it,  and  entered  into  a  merry  hall-room 
conversation.  Acting  up  to  her  long  education,  the  matron 
gradually  drifted  from  the  discourse,  leaving  Theodora  ID 


OLD  MYDDBLTON'S  MONEY.  263 

her  desired  position.  Miss  Trent  chatted  for  a  time  on 
trifling  subjects,  using  all  her  powers  of  winning,  for  she 
would  keep  Mr.  Keith  beside  her  at  any  cost.  But  even 
Theodora,  in  all  her  self-conceit,  knew  that  she  daro  not 
hope  to  keep  him  so  for  long,  though  she  might  use  every 
winning  power  she  possessed.  She  had  resigned  her  one 
faint  hope  for  this  valse  with  him,  but  still  she  thought  she 
miirht  delicately  convey  a  hint  as  to  future  dances. 

"  I  know  no  band  in  London  so  pleasant  to  dance  to," 
she  observed. 

"  Nor  I,"  he  said,  his  eyes  absently  following  the  gliding 
figures  ;  "it  surprised  me  to  find  you  sitting,  Miss  Trent." 

Theodora  flushed  uncomfortably.  During  the  whole  of 
the  last  season  the  unpleasant  consciousness  had  been  dawn- 
ing upon  her  that  she  was  not  so  thoroughly  what  her 
mother  called  successful  in  society  as  she  used  to  be. 
Whether  the  fretfulness,  which  in  her  nature  was  conse- 
quent on  hope  deferred,  had  more  effect  upon  her  face  than 
she  wot  of,  or  whether  fickle  partners  had  grown  a  little 
weary  of  her  superficial  beauty  and  shallow  remarks  ;  or 
whether  the  halo  of  old  Myddelton's  wealth  had  not  had 
something  to  do  with  her  previous  triumphs,  was  not  even 
known  to  Theodora  herself.  The  only  fact  certain  was 
that,  in  spite  of  her  regular  features  and  stylish  toilettes, 
in  spite  of  her  own  talent  and  her  mother's  Macchiavellian 
skill,  she  was  not  unfrequently  observed  sijting  moodily 
aside  now,  while  plainer  girls  took  her  old  place  in  the 
dances  she  was  so  fond  of. 

"  I  reserved  this  one,"  she  answered,  with  her  old  dis- 
regard for  truth.  "  I  shall  have  quite  sufficient  later  on  to- 
night." 

"  Doubtless,"  said  Royden,  quietly. 

He  was  watching  a  distant  group,  and  his  eyes  were 
grave  and  intent.  Theodora's  followed  them,  then  returned 
with  angry  swiftness. 

"Do  you  notice,  Mr.  Keith" — sha  asked  the  question  in 
a  soft,  deliberate  tone,  looking  imto  his  face  with  a  smile — 
"how  my  cousin  has  been  spoiled  by  her  extraordinary 
acquisition  of  old  Myddelton's  money  ?  I  remember  her 
quite  a  nice,  unaffected  girl  when  she  lived  at  The  Larches, 
and  had  only  forty  pounds  a  year  of  her  own,  Indeed  I 


264  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

grew  quite  fond  of  her  then,  and  asked  her  to  come  to  our 
house — as  you  may  recollect." 

"  The  first  time  I  met  Miss  Craven  was  at  your  house.  1 
recollect  it  perfectly." 

Theodora  glanced  furtively  up  into  Hoyden's  quiet  face. 
His  eyes  were  still  on  the  distant  group,  and  the  easy  tone 
it  was  impossible  to  read. 

"  But  now" added  Miss  Trent,  then  paused  with  a 

slight,  and  not  inelegant,  gesture  of  disgust.  When,  in  the 
few  seconds  of  silence  which  followed,  the  mortifying  con- 
sciousness forced  itself  upon  her  that  both  the  gesture  and 
the  insinuation  had  been  lost  upon  her  listener,  she  had 
recourse  to  speech  again.  "Everyone  notices  this  change, 
I  grieve  to  say,  Mr.  Keith  ;  and  one  can  but  regret  that 
unexpected  wealth,  and  mixing  in  society  to  which  she  has 
not  been  accustomed,  should  have  had  such  an  injurious 
effect  upon  her." 

"  To  what  injurious  effect  do  you  allude  ?  " 

Theodora  laughed  softly,  a  laugh  that  was  not  good  to 
hear. 

"Now.  Mr.  Keith,  you  must  have  noticed  the  change  in 
Honor,  nnd  you  ought  to  own  it." 

"Yes,  I  have  noticed  a  change  in  Miss  Craven." 

Miss  Trent  sought  curiously  for  an  explanation  of  the 
new  intonation  in  his  voice,  but  sought  in  vain. 

"  Of  course  you  have,"  she  said,  graciously  betraying  a 
full  comprehension ;  "  many  people  remark  upon  it.  Hervey 
says  it  pains  him  very  much." 

"  To  all  appearance,"  remarked  Royden,  in  her  interroga- 
tory pause,  "  Captain  Hervey  enjoys  pain." 

Theodora's  lips  were  set  in  angry  compression  as  she  saw 
--what  she  knew  that  he  saw— how  utterly  and  eagerly 
Captain  Trent  was  at  that  moment  devoting  himself  to  the 
girl  whose  changed  conduct  had  pained  him. 

"  I  think,"  observed  Miss  Trent,  in  a  tone  whose  resent- 
ment, though  suppressed,  was  sufficiently  evident  to  her 
companion,  "  that  you,  Mr,  Keirh,  must  see — men  are  BO 
much  quicker  to  detect  weaknesses  in  our  sex  than  we  our- 
ielves  are — how  persistently  Honor  tempts  my  cousin  to 
i  ppear  everywhere  in  her  t-hadow.  Of  course  this  is  easy  for 
her  now  ;  Hervey  sees  how  her  wealth  procure*  her 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  V^ 

where  the  services  of  all  ambitious  and  money-ioving  men  ; 
and  of  course  he  is  pleased  to  appear  in  the  train  of  the 
wealthiest  girl  in  England.     But  though   Honor  nndei 
stands  exactly  how  it  is,  she  flirts  a  great  doal  too  openl/1 
with  him.    Why,  he  is  for  ever  with  her  !  " 

"  He  is  fortunate." 

"I  assure  you  he  himself  does  not  think  so,"  put  ia 
Theodora,  with  spiteful  eagerness  ;  "  he  thinks  it  often  a 
great  bore  ;  and  besides  that,  he  has  a  perpetual  fear  of  her 
betraying  her  want  of  education,  and  humiliating  him  in 
public.  When  Honor  was  a  girl  at  home,  he  very  kindly 
instructed  her  in  the  usages  of  good  society,  and  now,  having 
entered  society  at  last,  she  of  course  entirely  depends  upon 
him.  Indeed,  I  tremble  to  think  what  blunders  she  would 
perpetually  make  but  for  his  constant  and  timely  advice. 
Knowing  this,  he  is  sorry  to  leave  her  unsupported." 

"  Do  you  think,  Miss  Trent,"  inquired  Koyoen,  leaning 
forward,  in  his  seat,  and  bringing  his  eyes  slowly  from  the 
group  he  was  studying,  "  that  the  Duke  of  Hartreigh  and 
those  gentlemen  whom  we  see  hovering  about  Miss  Craven 
DOW,  eager  for  a  word  or  glance — men  of  title,  wealth,  and 
celebrity — are  all  actuated  by  this  generous  feeling,  or  ia 
Captain  Trent  a  particular  exception  ?  v 

"  Everyone  knows  their  motives,"  retorted  Theodora,  for- 
getting her  gracious  languor  in  the  sudden  jealous  fear  which 
seized  her  ;  "  she  is  the  personification  of  old  My ddel ton's 
money,  you  recollect." 

"Oh!" 

*  Of  course,  as  I  said,"  resumed  Theodora,  wondering  over 
his  short  reply,  "  the  temptation  which  she  can  offer  is  not 
one  which  even  Hervey  can  very  well  decline,  though  the  posi- 
tion bores  him.  Like  other  men,  he  is  easily  led  on  to  make 
his  attentions  conspicuous  when  he  sees  how  very  openly  they 
are  encouraged.  If  you  lay  this  to  Honor's  ignorance,  of 
course  it  is  very  generous  of  you  ;  but  I  cannot  help  griev- 
ing over  the  marked  change  in  her,  and  regretting  that  she 
has  so  little  pride  and  modesty." 

"As?" 

"  As  to  give  encouragement  to  a  whole  crowd  of  suitorg, 
and  so  demonstratively  accept  and  parade  in  public  the 
devotion  they  offer  to  her  wealth." 


266  OLD  MYDDELTON'8  MONET. 

"  I  know  more  than  one  man,  Miss  Trent,"  observed 
Hoyden,  "  who  has  devoted  himself  to  Miss  Craven,  not  only 
without  encouragement,  but  literally  in  the  face  of  stroug 
d/scouragement — and  1  believe  Captain  Trent  to  be  doing  so 
at  this  moment." 

Theodora,  whose  gaze  had  been  fixed  on  Captain  Hervey'a 
leaning  figure,  raised  her  head  with  a  swift,  vindictive 
glance,  which  she  could  not  suppress  in  time. 

"  Honor  Craven,"  she  said,  with  cruel  deliberation,  "is,  as 
everyone  says,  arrogantly  proud  of  the  money  of  which  she 
BO  illegally  obtained  possession  ;  and  is,  besides  that,  a  most 
unprincipled  coquette." 

He  had  risen  from  his  seat  as  she  spoke,  but  waited  beside 
her  until  the  last  word  was  uttered,  then  answered,  with 
quiet  composure : 

"  On  this  subject  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  ns  k>  agree, 
Miss  Trent,  so  it  is  better  that  we  should  not  speak  of  it.  I 
consider  Miss  Craven  as  far  opposed  to  your  description  as 
light  is  opposed  to  darkness  ;  and  so  you  understand  how  I 
must  answer  you,  if  I  answer  you  at  all  on  this  subject." 

He  stood  a  moment  or  two  after  he  had  ceased  speaking, 
then,  with  a  bow,  he  walked  away. 

It  was  as  he  passed  on  his  slow  way  from  group  to  group, 
that  presently  he  joined  the  coterie  which  lingered  about 
Honor,  and  she  put  her  hand  into  his,  and  smiled  her  beau- 
tiful smile,  "Set,  even  in  his  first  momentary  glance,  he 
read  the  truth.  Lawrence  Haughton  had  told  her  what  he 
had  threatened  to  tell.  Afterwards,  when  he  was  alone,  he 
tried  in  vain  to  remember  how  he  had  read  this  fact.  Her 
gmile  was  not  flashing  in  its  brilliancy  as  it  used  to  be,  and 
her  words  were  not  prompt  and  piquant,  as  of  old — yet  it 
vas  not  these  facts  which  told  him.  There  had  been  no 
word  or  glance  of  suspicion,  or  even  of  curiosity  ;  no  signs 
of  coldness  or  repugnance  ;  yet,  as  Royden  sand  to  himsel' 
ajrain  and  again  in  his  solitude,  she  had  heard  Lawrence 
Haugh  ton's  story. 

It  was  because  he  saw  this  in  her  face  that  he  stayed  be- 
side  her  only  for  a  few  minutes.  Knowing  what  history 
Bhe  had  heard  as  the  history  of  his  past  life,  he  knew  that  it 
must  be  painful  to  her  to  feel  him  near  her.  Knowing  how 
•.his  story  hud  ben  told  her,  and  by  wiiom,  he  realised  thf 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  267 

fact  that  evermore  there  must  be  an  im passable  barrier 
between  them,  and  that  it  would  be  kinder  to  leave  her 
untroubled  by  his  presence. 

The  ball  was  only  half  over  when  Royden  Keith  bade 
adieu  to  his  host  and  hostess,  sorely  against  their  wish.  But 
he  had  not  descended  the  staircase  when  Cap;ain  Hervey 
Trent  came  up  to  him. 

"  Keith,"  he  began,  with  a  rather  eager  assumption  of 
familiarity,  "stay  a  moment,  will  you  ?  Honor  has  been 
asking  me  where  you  were,  and  she  will  be  pleased  with  me, 
I  daresay,  if  I  take  you  to  her.  Will  you  come  ?" 

"Thank  you,"  returned  Royden,  showing  no  impatience 
for  the  speaker  ;  "  but  Miss  Craven  did  not,  I  fancy,  send 
you  to  summon  me." 

"  Oh  !  certainly  not." 

"  If  she  had  done  so,  I  would  have  returned  with  you  at 
once.  As  it  is,  you  must  excuse  me." 

"  She  did  really  wonder  where  you  were,"  persisted  ITer- 
vef.  "They  were  talking  of  something  nobody  seemed 
to  know  anything  about,  and  she  said  you  would  tell  us,  if 
you  had  not  left.  I  know  she  would  be  glad  if  I  took  you 
back  with  me.  Come." 

Quietly,  and  in  a  very  few  words,  Royden  resisted  the 
warm,  familiar  invitation  ;  but  still  Captain  Trent  was  not 
to  be  so  easily  shaken  off. 

"  Why  is  it,  Keith,"  he  asked,  very  skilfully,  as  he  fancied, 
treading  ground  which  led  to  the  solution  of  a  trouble- 
some speculation  of  his,  "  that  you  have  avoided  Honor  all 
night.  Has  anything  occurred  ?  " 

"  Anything  occurred  ! "  repeated  Mr.  Keith,  with  a  glance 
of  slow  and  grave  inquiry  into  his  companion's  face  ;  "  I  do 
not  understand." 

"  I  mean,"  explained  Hervey,  not  comprehending  this 
glance,  "  I  mean — you  will  not  mind  what  I  am  going  to 
say,  I  hope — "  he  added,  blushing  like  a  girl,  although  they 
were  in  comparative  solitude  on  the  staircase,  "  1  mean, 
have  you,  or  I  should  say,  is  there  anything  serious  between 
you  and  Honor  ?  You  won't  mind  my  asking,  because  I 
really  am  so  anxious  on  this  point." 

"  Ar.y  affairs  of  Miss  Craven's  which  she  wishes  you  to 
know  she  will  doubtless  tell  yen  herself/" 


268  OLD  MTDDELTON'S  MONET. 

"  Bat  just  assure  me  of  that,"  persisted  Hervey,  with  hit 
characteristic  density  ;  "  it  will  not  makeany  real  difference 
\o  you,  and  it  might  make  a  world  of  difference  to  me." 

"  I  fail  to  see  the  possibility." 

"  Stop,"  cried  Hervey,  overtaking  him  as  he  walked  slowly 
down  the  stairs  and  linking  one  arm  in  his  ;  "  don't  be 
vexed,  for  after  all  it  is  a  natural  question,  and  would  give 
you  no  trouble  to  answer." 

No  trouble  !  Just  then,  too,  when  he  had  formed  that 
determination  never  to  seek  her  companionship  again,  even, 
as  it  had  ever  been,  only  for  a  few  minutes  at  a  time. 

"  Let  me,  as  the  elder  man,  Cfiptain  Trent,  advise  you  to 
leave  every  man  to  manage  his  own  affairs  without  inter- 
ference." 

But  Hoyden's  reticence  and  this  advice  availed  him 
nothing.  Hervey  Trent  was  so  determinately  bent  upon 
setting  his  own  mind  at  rest  upon  this  one  important  point, 
and  so  terribly  anxious  to  hear  from  Mr.  Keith's  own  lips 
that  Honor  Craven  and  he  were  nothing  to  each  other 
b'  yond  ordinary  acquaintances,  that  he  intruded  his  com- 
pany upon  Royden  up  to  the  last  moment  such  a  thing  was 
feasible,  and  reiterated,  in  various  forms,  his  urgent  request 
to  be  enlightened. 

His  heart,  sore  and  troubled  in  its  newly-gained  know- 
ledge of  that  barrier  which,  perhaps  for  ever,  must  be  reared 
between  them,  Royden  answered  with  a  sadness  which  waa 
yet  free  from  sarcasm  or  scorn. 

But  up  to  the  last  instant,  Hervey  was  impervious  to  this. 
Each  one  of  his  selfish,  persistent  questions  touched  an 
open  wound,  and  Royden,  but  for  the  strong  command  he 
put  upon  himself,  would  have  shaken  the  young  man  from 
him  with  contempt.  But  though  his  heart  was  sore  and 
troubled,  he  bore  this  probing  quietly,  answering  only  with 
negligence  where  he  might  have  answered  with  passion  and 
contempt* 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  269 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Over  all  things  brooding  slept 
The  quiet  sense  of  something  lost. 


THAT  London  season  was  a  perfect  dream  of  delight  to 
Phcebe  Owen.  She  had  never  been  accustomed  to  indulge 
in  fancies  of  any  kind,  but  if  she  had,  the  wildest  flight  of 
her  fancy  could  not  have  soared  to  such  splendour,  and  ease, 
and  variety,  as  that  in  which  she  revelled  now  in  Honor's 
shadow.  But  not  until  months  afterwards  did  she  under- 
stand how  much  more  of  this  happmessand  unmixed  pleasure 
had  been  owing  to  Honor  herself  than  to  the  constant  round 
of  gaiety  and  brilliancy  to  which  she  gave  the  credit. 

Never  had  Honor's  nature  held  a  grain  of  selfishness,  but 
in  this  wealthy,  courted  life  of  hers  the  fact  was  more  ap- 
parent to  Phoebe  than  it  had  been  in  those  old  days  at  The 
Larches.  Perhaps  this  was  because  Phrebe's  perceptions 
were  widening  a  little,  now  that  the  one  idol  on  which  for 
years  they  had  been  centred  was  —  unwillingly,  forsooth,  but 
not  the  less  ruthlessly  —  :being  withdrawn  ;  but  perhaps  it  was 
because  the  power  which  now  lay  in  Honor's  hands  was  broad 
and  great.  In  any  case  the  Kensington  house  was  a  home 
of  almost  unreal  happiness  and  splendour  to  Phcebe,  anr1 
the  example  of  her  cousin's  life  was  of  untold  benefit  tx? 
her. 

Nor  was  she  the  only  one  to  whom  Honor  made  the  grand 
old  mansion  into  a  beautiful  and  tempting  home.  From 
what,  by  her  bright  unvarying  kindness  and  gentle  steadfast 
help,  she  had  rescued  Hervey,  he  could  only  fully  recognise 
a  year  afterwards,  when  he  declared,  with  a  humiliation 
which  was  new  to  him,  yet  of  which  he  felt  no  shame  — 

"I  can  often  see  the  pitiful  sight  of  idle  men  lounging 
about  town,  who  are  only  just  what  I  myself  should  have  been 
if  Honor  had  not  saved  me  ;  and,  if  I  could  do  for  them 
what  she  has  done  for  me,  I  would  ;  but  then  it  ie  only  the 
few  who  can  do  it." 

Thus,  for  Hervey  and  for  Phoebe,  Honor  made  a  home  t# 


270  )LD   MYDUELTOX'S  MONK7. 

which  they  were  brightly  welcomed,  and  in  its  happy  light, 
and  under  her  loving  influence,  the  old  idle  and  selfish 
habits  fell  from  them,  too  sickly  to  bear  this  pure,  bright 
atmosphere. 

But  this  was  not  all  the  good  that  Honor  did,  even  in  the 
very  heart  of  that  world  of  gaiety  and  unrest,  while  she 
reigned  a  queen  triumphant,  wielding  her  three-fold  sceptre 
of  beauty,  youth,  and  wealth.  Few  who  met  her  in  the 
brilliant  saloons  where  she  was  ever  the  prominent  figure — 
worshipped  openly  as  one  whom  it  was  natural  to  worship — 
could  have  guessed  where  many  hours  of  the  day  had  been 
Fpent,  or  how  those  hours  had  been  used.  Few  could  have 
guessed  what  generous  gifts  had  been  distributed  quietly  by 
the  small  white  hands  which  it  was  a  privilege  to  touch. 
Few  could  have  guessed  what  comforting  and  strengthening 
words  had  been  uttered  by  the  lips  whose  smile  was  reward 
for  hours  of  indefatigable  attendance,  and  tew  could  have 
guessed  how  anxious  to  do  good  was  the  girlish  heart  whose 
zest  in  all  amusements  was  as  fresh  as  if  that  heart  were  not 
strong  and  steadfast  for  its  work  in  the  solemn  battle  of  life. 

No  ;  few  could  have  guessed,  although  there  were  times 
when  the  girl  drooped  wearily  under  the  burden  of  her  great 
responsibility,  and  could  almost  longingly  recall  that  old 
life,  whose  only  gleams  of  brilliance  had  been  day-dreams  of 
wild  and  sweet  impossibilities.  Her  dreams  were  of  future 
Btill — poor  Honor  ! — when  she  allowed  them  to  come  at  all  ; 
but  her  own  was  not  the  central  figure  now,  as  it  had  been 
in  those  old  times ;  indeed,  her  own  was  rarely  there  at  all ; 
and  these  dreams  were  all  grey,  and  ahill,  and  lonely.  Now 
and  then,  but  rarely,  came  back  to  her  that  autumn  day 
when  she  had  walked  beside  Royden  while  he  told  her  how 
he  loved  her  ;  or  that  evening,  when,  in  his  own  home,  she 
had  turned  with  negligence  from  the  same  story.  But  when 
such  memories  did  come,  she  stifled  them  as  if  they  hurt  her, 
and  then  returned  those  haunting  dreams  of  the  future,  in 
which  she  saw  him  always  alone,  solitary,  and  unhappy  ; 
watched  and  suspected  ;  always  alone  in  the  crowds  which 
clustered  about  him,  and  even  in  whose  merriment  he  joined 
— a  man  standing  apart,  *So  she  saw  him,  chastened  in 
heart  and  intellect ;  and  it  was  this  constant  haunting 
thought  of  his  grave  and  solitary  life  which  brought  that 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  271 

dreamy  sadness  to  her  eyes  so  often,  and  kept  at  bay  all 
thought  of  love  and  close  companionship. 

They  met  often.  In  the  whirl  of  life  into  which  both 
were  so  eagerly  tempted,  it  was  impossible  it  should  be 
otherwise  ;  but  there  was  always  now  a  barrier  between  them 
which,  though  invisible,  was  inexorably  impassable  ;  and 
which  it  must  be  impossible  ever  to  pass  again,  because 
neither  could  speak  of  it  unless  in  that  horrible  alternative 
of  Lawrence  Haughton's  carrying  his  threat  into  execution, 
and  making  his  suspicion  public.  As  yet  Mr.  Haughton 
had  taken  no  step  towards  this  result,  beyond  one  more 
threatening  interview  with  Honor,  in  which  he  had  shown 
her  the  burnt  scrap  of  paper  which  he  had  so  long  guarded 
under  lock  and  key,  and  of  which  he  had  before  only  told 
her.  Honor,  standing  opposite  him,  while  he  insisted  on 
showing  it  to  her,  bent  and  examined  it,  though  apparently 
the  scarred  fragment  possessed  very  little  interest  for  her. 
Lawrence  could  not  see  her  eyes,  and  waited  so  long  in  vain 
for  any  remark  which  might  betray  her  conviction  or  fear 
that  at  last,  in  despair,  he  reminded  her  harshly  of  this  in- 
controvertible evidence.  She  raised  her  face  slowly,  and 
answered  in  her  usual  tones. 

*  Dear  Gabriel,  those  are  the  words  you  bid  me  read  ; 
but  I  see  no  interest  in  them,  Lawrence.  I  might  easily 
write  such  words  of  my  own  cousin  Gabriel,  if  I  chose — to 
any  one,"  she  added,  with  peculiar  emphasis. 

And  then  she  turned  away,  muttering  that  the  room  was 
BO  warm  it  made  her  feel  faint  ;  and  putting  her  hand  to 
her  head,  she  closed  her  eyes  one  moment,  turning  white  aa 
death. 

"  The  letter,"  observed  Mr.  Haughton,  while  he  watche  1 
her  narrowly,  "  was  written  to  the  man  who  calls  himself 
Royden  Keith,  and  it  is  so  commenced — dear  Gabriel — in  a 
lady's  hand." 

"  i  do  not  think  so,"  replied  Honor,  in  that  quiet  tone  of 
dissent  to  which  her  old  guardian  should  have  been  accus- 
tomed now.  "We  women,  as  a  rule,  use  capitals  in  such 
a  case.  1  think  these  words  came  in  the  middle  of  the 
letter." 

"  Absurd,"  interposed  the  lawyer,  with  impatience.  "Yet 
even  if  it  were  BO,  what  diiferen00  would  that  make  ?  U 


272  OLD   MYDDELTOX'S   MONET. 

she  must  call  him  'dear  Gabriel'  in  the  middle  of  the  lettel 
as  well  as  at  the  beginning,  like  a  love-sick  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  the  necessity  of  discussing  this, 
Lawrence." 

"  Yes,  }  ou  do — you  must,"  he  retorted  ;  "  and  yon  would 
be  mad  to  pretend  that  there  is  any  loophole  for  escape 
from  my  conviction.  To  address  the  one  to  whom  you  write 
as 'dear  Gabriel '  is  a  pretty  incontrovertible  proof  that 
Gabriel  is  the  name  of  the  person  to  whom  the  letter  is 
sent.  You  see  it  so  yourself,  as  plainly  as  1  see  it." 

"  Gabriel  is  not  a — a  very  uncommon  name,"  said  Honor, 
and  Mr.  Haughton's  hopes  rose  a  little,  for  he  read  th* 
anguish  of  suspicion  which  she  tried  in  vain  to  hide. 

The  interview  had  not  ended  there,  for  the  old  suit  had 
been  again  desperately  urged,  and  the  old  promise  repeated, 
in  vain  ;  but  after  this  he  had  taken  no  further  step  for- 
ward in  his  threatened  bringing  to  justice  of  old  Myddel"- 
ton's  murderer  ;  and  Honor  rightly  surmised  that  her  old 
guardian  was  too  astute  a  lawyer  to  make  his  accusation 
public  until  he  held  an  unbroken  thread  of  evidence. 

Sometimes  Honor  and  Theodora  Trent  met  in  society, 
but  not  very  often,  as  there  were  limits  to  the  circle  in  which 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Trent  displayed  their  graces,  and  even  within 
these  limits  Honor  Craven's  presence  was  eagerly  sought. 
Except  for  a  passing  regret  that  old  ties  and  memories  could 
be  so  ruthlessly  snapped  by  jealousy,  it  made  no  difference 
to  Honor  when  Theodora  happened  to  be  in  the  same 
assembly.  She  invariably  spoke  to  her,  though  no  longer 
like  an  old  friend,  as  she  used  to  do,  for  Miss  Trent's 
marked  glances  and  innuendoes  could  not  be  misunderstood. 
If  it  had  been  possible,  Theodora  would  have  robbed 
Honor  of  the  admiration  and  the  love  she  gained  so  easily  ; 
but  being  utterly  impossible,  Miss  Trent  was  fain  to  content 
herself  with  dropping  casual  and  infectious  hints,  or  express- 
ing all  that  looks  and  gestures  could  express.  And  it  could 
hardly  be  that  these  poisonous  words  and  glances  could  fall 
as  harmlessly  on  everyone  as  they  had  fallen  on  Royden 
Keith. 

In  those  meetings,  which  were  so  brief,  between  himself 
and  Honor,  sr\e  was  ever  very  quiet,  just  as  she  might  have 
been  if  the  had  feared  to  trust  herself.  And  he,  noticing 


OLD  ilYDDBLTOJCr  S  MONEY.  273 

that  always  at  his  coming  there  would  fall  over  her  face  a 
stillness  which  looked  like  weariness,  made  those  meetings 
fewer  and  more  brief,  as  the  London  season  neai  ed  its  zenith. 
Even  Phcobe  noticed  that  this  silence  fell  upon  her  cousin 
even  when  she  only  mentioned  Royden's  name,  and  it 
taught  the  girl  a  new  experience,  and  even  a  new  wisdom. 
Her  cousin,  whose  love  and  brightness  had  made  the 
only  sunshine  her  life  had  ever  held,  who  was  so  much 
better,  and  wiser,  and  brighter  than  herself,  though  five 
years  younger,  had  some  soreness  at  heart,  in  spite  of  all  the 
splendour  and  the  luxury  about  her,  in  spite  of  her  beautiful 
houses  and  her  host  of  lovers,  in  spite  of  her  talents  and 
her  great  beauty. 

The  only  relief  for  sorrow  of  any  kind,  which  had  come 
within  the  radius  of  Miss  Owen's  imagination,  was  recipro- 
city ;  yet  Honor  did  not  avail  herself  of  this.  Whatever 
this  soreness  at  heart  might  be,  Honor  bore  it  silently  and 
alone,  letting  no  shadow  of  her  grief  fall  upon  the  path  she 
made  so  bright  for  others.  It  taught  the  elder  girl  a 
lesson,  too,  of  patience  and  Unselfishness ;  not  unneeded, 
though  Honor's  daily  example  had  made  her  now  a  pleasant 
companion,  sympathetic,  if  still  excitable,  and  kind  in  her 
harmless  pursuit  of  pleasure.  She  was,  as  Hervey  told  her 
one  day,  in  a  tone  of  approval  which  was  equally  new  and 
pleasant  to  Phoebe,  "losing  her  gushing  proclivities,  and 
was  wonderfully  the  gainer  by  the  loss." 

And  Hervey  meant  what  he  said.  He  had  forgiven  her 
intrusion  into  the  Kensington  mansion,  because,  under 
Honor's  skilful  management,  he  was  made  to  feel  only  the 
pleasant  effect  of  her  society  ;  and  it  was  impossible,  seeing 
Honor's  treatment  of  them  both,  for  him  to  dream  of  Phoebe 
as  an  interloper.  So,  gradually  he  grew  to  believe  what 
Honor  had  meant  him  to  believe  that  it  was  altogether  a 
pleasant  arrangement.  True,  there  were  still  times  when  he 
wished  for  nothing  on  earth  so  strongly  as  Phoebe's  absence  ; 
^ut  then  the  feeling  wore  itself  out  as  Honor's  conduct  to 
himself  still  continued  to  keep  all  lover-like  ambition  at  bay, 
and  still  more  rapidly  wore  itself  out  as  Phoebe's  silly  moods 
grew  rarer ;  as  common  sense  leavened  her  ecstacies,  and 
.he  desire  to  please,  rather  than  charm,  lightened  her  «ome« 
what  heavy  aud  disjointed  converse. 


274  OLD   MYDDELTOK'S  MONEY 

So  life  went  on  in  London,  and  Honor,  ever  working 
ceaselessly  and  patiently  to  probe  that  secret  of  old  Myddel. 
ton's  murder,  was  still  gay,  and  sweet,  and  piquante  in  the 
society  in  which  she  was  courted,  walking  as  it  seemed  ever 
brightly  in  her  path  of  roses,  though  the  burden  of  a  pum> 
unshared  and  unspoken  of,  pressed  upon  her. 

She  had  arranged  to  go  to  Abbotsuioor  early  in  July,  and 
though  Phcebe  could  not  look  forward  with  unmixed 
pleasure  to  leaving  the  London  world,  which  was  so  fall  of 
delight  for  her,  she  could  still  find  solace  in  the  prospect  of 
reigning  with  Honor  in  the  now  beautiful  mansion  which, 
in  their  childhood,  had  seemed  to  them  an  Aladdin's  palace 
in  its  shroud,  behind  whose  rust  and  cobwebs  slept  a  wonder- 
ful grandeur.  In  this  grandeur  she  was  to  be  almost  equal 
to  Honor,  and  there  would  always  be  guests  and  gak-ry, 
although  Honor  would  be  sure  to  work  there  in  carrying  out 
those  curious  projects  of  hers  for  the  good  of  the  poor,  who 
had  been  so  long  neglected  by  the  possessors  of  old  Myd- 
delton's  money  and  estate,  and  even  for  the  good  of  many 
who,  in  this  great  city,  struggled  upon  the  hard  highway 
of  life,  or  fell  and  fainted  on  the  battle-plain. 

"And  i»  all  these  things  I  shall  be  useless,"  mueed 
Phoebe,  not — to  her  credit — in  her  unwillingness  to  help, 
but  in  the  consciousness  of  her  own  incapacity.  "  But  " — 
and  this  washer  consolatory  conclusion — "  June  is  not  gone 
yet." 

The  certainty  of  this  fact  was  especially  refreshing  to  her 
on  the  morning  before  the  ball  which  Honor  was  to  give  in 
her  mansion  at  Kensington,  on  one  of  the  last  days  of  that 
hot  summer  month. 

"  It  will  be  such  a  superb  party,"  Phoebe  exclaimed  in 
rapture  ;  "  won't  it,  Honor  ?" 

Honor,  smiling,  said  she  hoped  so  ;  and  then  dreamed 
over  it  quietly,  seeing  most  clearly  among  the  crowd  that 
one  figure  which,  in  those  dreams  of  hers,  always  seemed  to 
stand  apart.  "  Surely  for  this  night  he  would  come,"  she 
thought.  "  "We  are  going  away  so  soon,  and  he'has  accepted 
my  invitation.  Oh,  he  is  sure  to  come." 

Merrily  all  that  day  the  girls  ran  about  the  great  house, 
taking  such  a  fresh  and  childish  pleasure  in  the  prepara- 
tions, that  great  was  the  astonishment  of  the  solemn 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  275 

servants,  as  well  as  of  the  workmen  and  women,  who  found 
it  hard  to  ply  their  hammers  and  their  needles  with  a 
beseeming  gravity. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Honor  ?"  inquired  Phoebe, 
when  they  sat  resting  over  their  afternoon  tea. 

"  I  was  recalling,"  said  Honor,  sitting  lazily  opposite  her 
cousin,  who,  in  a  state  of  suppressed  excitement,  presided 
over  the  exquisite  little  tea  equipage,  "I  was  recalling  the 
parties — rare  as  old  china — which  we  used  to  have  ac  The 
Larches.  Weren't  we  always  in  a  state  of  ferment,  little 
Frau  ?  and  wasn't  our  anxiety  intense  over  our  dresses  ?  " 

"Mine  was,"  modified  Phoabe,  with  honesty.  "  And  do 
you  remember  how  angry  Jane  used  to  be  when  you  pro- 
duced some  unexpected  game  or  luxury,  on  which  you  f.iid 
surreptitiously  spent  all  your  pocket-money,  hoping  to  glean 
a  little  fun  from  it  ?  " 

"Such  humble  purchases,  too,"  mused  Honor,  smiling. 

"  They  seem  so  now,"  returned  Phoabe,  looking  round  the 
beautiful  rooms,  and  thinking  of  the  gorgeous  and  lavish 
preparations  for  Honor's  ball ;  "  but  we  thought  them  tre- 
mendous then,  and  Jane  always  pronounced  them  absurd 
and  ruinous  extravagance." 

"I  remember  once,  before  a  dinner  party,"  said  Honor, 
laughing,  "  I  went  into  Kinbury  and  speculated  in  a  box  of 
crackers.  It  was  Christmas  time,  and  they  looked  pretty 
and  might  provoke  a  laugh,  I  thought.  I  hid  them  away 
when  I  got  home,  only  intending  to  bring  them  out  at  the 
last  moment,  for  fear  of  not  being  allowed  to  exhibit  them, 
but  of  course  Jane  found  them,  and  forbid  me  to  put  them 
on  the  table.  Picture  woe  like  mine  !  " 

"  I  remember,"  said  Phoebe,  growing  dismal  over  even  the 
recollection ;  "  and  I  cried,  and  told  Lawrence,  and  he 
scolded  Jane,  and  ordered  them  to  be  put  just  where  you 
chose,  and  you  were  vexed  with  me,  and  hid  the  crackers. 
And  don't  you  remember,  Honor,  that  we  found  them  the 
autumn  after,  a,nd  took  them  with  us  to  the  Statton  Woods 
when  we  went  to  sketch  ;  and  Hervey  joined  us.  Oh, 
you  remember  ! "  cried  Phoebe,  springing  up  to  look  if 
Honor's  cup  was  empty,  "  and  he  wanted  to  crack  them 
nil  with  you,  and  pretended  the  mottoes  were  true.  Such 
ft  contrast  to  Mr.  Keith,  who  came  witii  him  that  day, 


276  OLD  MYDDELTON      MONEY. 

and  never  offered  to  crack  one  with  you,  but  all  the 
while  turned  to  me.  It  was  a  novelty  for  me,"  con- 
eluded  the  elder  cousin,  smiling,  "  because  Hervey  was 
always  eager  to  join  with  you  in  everything  ;  and  as  for 
Lawrence  " 

But  Phoebe  paused  there.  Not  even  yet  could  she  finish 
calmly  any  allusion  to  her  guardian's  indifference  to  herself, 
and  undisguised  love  for  Honor,  though  each  day — as  she 
herself  was  now  aware — it  was  growing  easier  for  her. 

"  How  many  dances  have  you  promised  Hervey  for  to- 
night ?  "  inquired  Honor,  simply  for  the  purpose  of  turning 
the  conversation.  And  from  that  point  the  girls'  talk 
hovered  merrily  about  the  coming  ball,  until  their  sociable 
afternoon  rest  was  over,  and  they  ran  off  again  to  inspect 
the  hanging  of  the  silver  lamps  which  gleamed  in  purity 
among  the  flowers. 

"All  finished  now,"  said  Honor,  smiling  at  Phoebe's 
ecstatic  gestures  when  they  paid  their  last  visit  to  the  re- 
ception-rooms, which  from  end  to  end  were  like  a  fairy 
palace  of  brilliancy  and  beauty,  with  softly-treading  servants 
moving  here  and  there  like  phantom  forms  which  should 
vanish  when  the  dazzling  figures  of  the  guests  should  take 
their  place.  "  All  finished,  little  Frau,  and  this  may  be  a 
very  happy  night  ?" 

"  Why  only  may  be  ?  "  asked  Phoebe.  "  Of  course  it  will 
be  ;  every  single  person  you  care  for  has  accepted  your  in- 
vitation, Honor.  Why  are  you  doubtful  ?  " 

"  Because,"  said  the  girl,  bringing  her  lustrous  gaze,  from 
the  vista  of  drapery  and  exotics,  "  because  I  feel  that  this 

night  must  be  very  happy,  or  very Come,  though,  let 

us  decorate  ourselves,  little  Frau,  now  that  the  rooms  are 
decorated,"  and  she  turned  and  raced  iway  from  Phoebe, 
just  as  she  used  to  do  when  they  were  children,  and  thp 
sturdy  limbs  of  the  little  Frau  had  no  chance  against  the 
speed  of  her  willowy  little  cousin. 

Though  Honor's  rooms  seemed  filled  with  guests  that 
jight,  for  her  there  was  one  great  vacancy.  The  girlish 
hostess,  in  her  bright  loveliness  and  thoughtful  cordiality, 
seemed  happy  and  content  amid  her  guests,  yet  her  heart 
beat  painfully  as  every  name  was  announced,  and  her  eyef 
saddened  for  a  momeut  in  the  silence  which  followed. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  277 

Eleven — twelve — one — two — three.  The  dawning  of  the 
June  morning,  and  Honor's  guests  folding  their  cloaks  about 
them — or  allowing  their  partners  to  do  so — and  telling  each 
other  that  they  never  had  enjoyed  themselves  so  much 
before,  or  that  they  were  tired  to  death,  as  the  case  might 
be.  The  sleepy  coachmen  drawing  up  their  horses  in  the 
wide  and  silent  street,  where  the  fair  light  of  morning  fell 
already. 

Fourl  The  last  guests  gone !  the  last  sleepy  footman 
closing  hig  carriage-door  upon  torn  lace  and  crumpled 
flowers  ;  and  the  last  sleepy  coachman  driving  his  horses 
from  before  the  lighted  mansion.  A  chilly  silence,  which 
must  have  crept  in  with  the  dawn,  had  fallen  upon  the 
gorgeous  rooms.  Phoebe  was  actually  shivering  when  she 
ran  back  into  the  deserted  ball-room  to  look  for  her  cloak. 
In  an  instant  her  searching  gaze  was  intercepted. 

"  Honor,"  she  whispered,  hurrying  anxiously  up  to  where 
her  cousin  sat  with  her  face  hidden  among  the  pillows  of 
a  couch.  "  Honor,  darling,  what  is  it  ?  Honor,  dear," 
ehe  pleaded  again,  in  the  silence,  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

Her  vocabulary  was  not  varied,  but  her  tone  was  anxious, 
and  Honor  raised  her  head  and  smiled. 

"Is  it," questioned  Phoebe,  inquisitive  in  all  her  sym- 
pathy, "  because  Mr.  Keith  did  not  come  ? " 

"  I  am  tired,  Phoebe.     I — think  that  is  all." 

"  And  no  wonder  you  are  tired,  Honor,  I'm  sure,"  ex- 
claimed Miss  Owen  ;  "such  a  splendid  ball,  and  you  did 
your  part  so  nicely,  too."  "But  still,"  she  added,  watching 
Honor's  efforts  to  cast  off  this  dreamy  sadness,  "  it  is  strange 
about  Mr.  Keith.  He  accepted  your  invitation,  and  sent 
no  excuse  afterwards.  Yet  he  has  always  been  so  courteous 
that  if  he  had  known  he  could  not  come,  I  am  sure  he  would 
have" 

"  He  did  not  care  to  come,  I  think,"  said  Honor,  and  rose 
as  wearily  as  if  half  a  century,  instead  of  half  a  day,  had 
rolled  over  since  she  had  raced  up  and  down  the  stairs  with 
Phoabe. 

"  Oh  !  Honor,"  cried  the  elder  cousin,  quite  ready  to  turn 
the  conversation,  "  what  a  successful  ball  it  has  been  1  As 
Eervey  says,  everything  you  arrange  must  be  a  success. 
He  says  he  never  enjoyed  a  ball  so  much  in  his  life,  and 


J78  OLD  M  TDD  ELTON'S  MONKY. 

though  my  experience  hasn't  been  very  large,  HO  yon  wiil 
pay,  1  say  so,  too,  as  seriously  as  he  said  it.  How  kind  you 
were  to  him  to-night,  Honor,  and  yet  " 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Honor,  absently,  when  she  paused. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  replied  Phcebe,  "  and  yet  you  never 
leemed  before  so  utterly  unconscious  of  his  attentions,  and 
were  only  kind  to  every  one  the  same." 

"  You  were  kind  to  Hervey,  too,  I'm  glad  to  Bay,  dear 
little  Frau,"  said  Honor,  ready,  as  she  always  was,  to  sympa- 
thise with  every  feeling  of  others,  let  her  own  thoughts  or 
pain  be  what  it  would. 

"  To-morrow,"  whispered  Phcebe,  when  the  girls  parted 
at  last  in  Honor's  dressing-room,  "  Mr.  Keith  is  to  be  one 
of  Lady  Somerson's  party  for  the  opera,  and  he  will  explain 
his  absence  to-night." 

"  Yes,"  said  Honor,  gently,  as  she  returned  her  cousin's 
-kiss,  and  knew  the  words  had  been  said  to  cheer  her.  "  Per- 
haps he  will." 

It  may  have  been  that  anticipation  which  had  brought 
the  brilliance  back  to  her  eyes  when  she  stood  beside 
Phoebe's  bed,  in  the  bright  summer  noon. 

"Up  alieady  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Owen,  rising  to  a  sitting 
posture,  and  gazing  astonished  into  the  bright,  sweet  face. 

"I  have  been  up  a  long  time,"  smiled  Honor  ;  "I  have 
been  walking  in  the  gardens.  It  is  such  a  beautiful  moru- 
ing,  Pho3be." 

"  We  have  four  engagements  for  to-day,"  cried  Miss  Owen. 
"Oh!  I'm  glad  you  woke  me,  Honur.  I  will  ring  at 
once." 

All  that  day  there  was  an  excitement  about  Honor  which 
puzzled  Phcebe  not  a  little  ;  an  excitement  which  made  her 
beauty  dazzling  to  many  eyes  that  night,  when  she  sat  in 
Lady  Somerson's  box  at  Drury  Lane,  and  waited,  to  all 
seeming,  only  for  the  rising  of  the  curtain. 

"  Honor  " — Sir  Philip  was  whispering  to  her  from  his  seat 
behind — "  Keith  was  to  have  joined  us  here  to-night,  but  I 
suppose  we  shall  be  disappointed,  as  we  were  last  night. 
Of  course  you  understand  his  absence,  though  we  do  not  ?  " 

"No,  Sir  Philip." 

A  look  of  surprise  passed  between  the  baronet  and  his 
wile. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  279 

"Then  who  can  do  so? "  wondered  Lady  Somerson. 

"  I " but  Honor's  answer  broke  off  into  a  subdued  ex- 
clamation as  the  orchestra  struck  up  the  opening  bars  of 
the  overture.  "  It  is  Faust!  I — I  forgot." 

Lady  JSoraerson  looked  down  wonderingly  into  her 
favourite's  face.  She  had  no  remembrance  of  that  night  at 
Deergrove  when  Eoyden  Keith  had  asked  her  to  sing  as 
Margueri'e  to  his  Faust;  and  she  could  nob  understand  why 
the  girl's  face  should  grow  so  white  and  sad.  Of  course 
Honor  had  heard  the  opera  often,  both  abroad  and  at  home, 
but  never,  as  now,  had  it  brought  back,  with  a  vivid  reality, 
that  summer  evening  wl-en,  in  his  quiet,  masterly  way,  he 
had  made  her  sing  witn  him,  and  made  that  singing  different 
from  all  other  singing  she  had  ever  joined  in. 

Lady  Somerson  grew  unaccountably  anxious  and  ill  at 
ease  ;  and  but  that  she  saw  Honor  had  no  wish  to  leave  the 
theatre,  she  would  willingly  herself  have  forfeited  the  opera, 
that  she  might  take  the  girl  away.  No  ;  though  so  white 
and  still,  Honor  sat  engrossed,  breathed  softly,  and  drinking 
in,  with  intense  sympathy,  the  passion  and  the  pathos  of  the 
music,  and  of  the  scenes  before  her. 

The  curtain  fell  at  last,  and  the  hearts  that  had  ached, 
and  the  eyes  that  had  wept,  met  each  other  with  smiles  and 
jests.  But  Honor's  face  had  not  regained  its  colour,  nor 
had  the  dreamy  sadness  left  her  eyes,  though  she  received 
with  pleasant  thanks  the  eagerly  offered  attentions  of  the 
gentlemen  who  clustered  into  Sir  Philip's  box,  hating  each 
other  piously  during  the  doubtful  moments  before  Sir  Philip 
came  to  the  fore,  and  frankly  chose  her  an  escort. 

"You  will  go  home  with  Lady  Somerson  to  supper,  Honor, 
won't  you  ?  "  whispered  Phcebe.  "  She  asked  us  because  we 
are  going  with  her  to  Lord  Selie's,  and  it  will  be  so  nice. 
Will  you  ? " 

"  If  you  wish  it,"  said  Honor,  gently  ;  and  they  went. 

But  Lady  Somerson,  in  her  kind-heartedness,  saw  more 
than  Phcebe  did,  and  more  than  Hervey,  who,  to  his  delight, 
was  included  in  the  invitation  to  Sir  Philip's  "  opera 
aupper."  She  knew,  too,  what  Honor  would  like  ;  so,  when 
the  time  came  for  them  to  adjourn  to  Lord  Selie's  assembly 
(in  which  she  knew  only  too  well  that  the  old  programme 
would  be  repeated,  and  tnat  Honor  must  receive  the  ever- 


280  OLD  MYDDE  I/TON'S  MOXEY. 

recurring  rontine  of  flattery  and  pursuit),  Lady  Somerson 
coolly  announced  her  intention  of  staying  at  home,  smiling 
a  little,  jast  as  if  she  had  done  a  clever  thing,  when  she 
placidly  received  Honor's  request  to  stay  with  her. 

As  the  girl's  own  chaperon  was  not  of  Lady  Somerson's 
party  that  night,  Phrebe  was  placed  under  Sir  Philip's 
^special  care,  but,  at  the  last  moment,  she  turned  with  a 
touch  of  self-denial  which  Honor  was  quick  to  appreciate. 

"  Let  me  stay  with  you,"  she  whispered,  "  or  let  us  go 
Mome  together.  I  can  see  that  you  are  tired,  and  not  well. 
I  would  rather  go  home  with  you,  Honor." 

*'  Why,  my  dear  little  Frau,"  said  Honor,  brightly.  "  I 
am  staying  at  home  for  my  own  pleasure,  and  it  will  be 
quite  spoiled  unless  you  go  for  yours.  Good  night.  Good 
night,  Hervey.  No  need  to  say  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  your- 
selves." 

Captain  Trent  stood  dubiously  and  dolefully  beside  her, 
trying  in  vain  to  make  her  comprehend  how  impossible  for 
him  was  any  enjoyment  in  which  she  did  not  participate, 
and  how  much  happier  he  would  be  to  stay  with  her.  But 
this  was  Lady  Somerson's  house,  and  he  had  been  invited 
with  the  understanding  that  he  was  engaged  afterwards,  as 
were  the  whole  party.  So  Hervey,  still  a  salient  worshipper 
of  good  form,  knew  that  such  communication  would  be  in 
bad  taste. 

Sir  Philip  Somerson  had,  for  the  first  few  minutes,  won- 
dered over  his  wife's  change  of  plan,  but  her  motive  had 
then  dawned  upon  him,  and  he  took  Phoebe  under  his  pro- 
tection, in  his  courtly,  genial  way 

When  she  and  Honor  were  left  alone  together,  Lady 
Bomerson,  moved  by  some  incontrollable  impulse,  put  her 
arms  about  the  girl  who,  though  so  rich  and  idolised,  was 
young  and  motherless.  Then  she  kissed  her  softly,  and 
be^an  to  chat  in  a  tone  which  seemed  quite  easy  in  its 
intense  kindness. 

"  Now,  Honor,  darling,  you  and  I  are  going  to  have  a 
jjuiet,  enjoyable  time  ;  but  I  am  so  liberally  endowed  with 
that  essentially  feminine  virtue  which  laid  Eden  waste,  that 
J  must  take  one  step  before  I  can  experience  any  '  peace  of 
inind,  dearer  than  all.'  Firet  of  all  I  ring  for  tea  ;  no  two 
ever  did  Bit  down  to  spend  a  few  hours  together 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  281 

without  reqniring  tea,  did  they  ?  But  I  am  ringing  for 
another  purpose,  too,  'for  I  want  to  send  a  message  of 
inquiry  to  Jermyn  Street." 

She  did  not  glance  towards  Honor  either  as  she  spoke 
or  while  she  gave  the  message  to  the  footman,  but  when  she 
did  look  she  fancied  there  was  more  relief  upon  the  girl's 
face  than  surprise. 

"Yes,"  she  continued,  standing  at  the  tea-table,  as  the 
door  closed  behind  the  servant ;  "  I  must  satisfy  my 
womanly  inquisitiveness,  and  I  do  not  expect  one  of  my 
own  sex  to  blame  me — remember  that,  my  dear." 

A  whole  hour  passed  before  the  man  returned  with  his 
tidings,  and  that  hour  the  two  friends  spent  pleasantly,  as 
two  friends  can  spend  an  hour  in  ease  and  indolence,  when 
no  gaunt  secret  or  mist  of  suspicion  and  distrust  hovers 
between  them. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

The  servant  had  returned,  and  Lady  Somerson  turned 
her  head  lazily,  as  it  seemed,  for  his  message  ;  yet  she  need 
hardly  have  schooled  her  face,  for  Honor's  eyes — lustrous  in 
their  great  and  speechless  anxiety — were  fixed  only  upon 
this  possible  bearer  of  a  message  from  Royden  Keith. 

"  I  saw  Mr.  Pierce,  my  lady,  as  you  wished.  He  was 
very  anxious.  He  had  sent  off  one  of  Mr.  Keith's  grooms 
to  Westleigh  Towers  to  inquire  if  his  master  was  there,  and 
another  to  Kinbury  ;  he  himself  was  just  coming  here  to  see 
Sir  Philip — even  late  as  it  is.  He  is  alarmed,  I  think, 
my  lady,  about  his  master." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?    What  did  he  say — exactly  ?" 

Honor's  eyes  had  not  stirred  from  the  man's  face  ;  her 
hands  were  locked  together  in  her  lap,  and  her  breath  came 
quickly  and  irregularly  as  she  waited. 

"He  said,  my  lady,  that  last  night,  just  as  Mr.  Keith 
was  going  to  start  to  Kensington,  to  Miss  Craven's  ball,  a 
message  was  brought  him  which  was  to  be  delivered 
specially  and  privately  to  himself,  and  so  which  of  course  Mr. 
Pierce  did  not  hear.  He  said,  my  lady,  that  this  message 
must  have  changed  all  his  master's  plans,  for  he  went  out  at 
once  with  the  messenger,  never  mentioning  where  he  waa 
going,  or  when  he  should  return.  The  messenger  was  a 
woman,  my  lady,  which  Mr.  Pierce  thought  very  curioua 


282  OLD  WYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

and  suspicions  ;  and  he  is  sure  his  master  intended  to 
return  directly,  because  he  only  put  an  overcoat  on,  and 
went  as  he  was,  in  full  dress.  Yet  he  did  not  return,  my 
lady — he  never  has  returned." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Suffer  love :  a  good  epithet!  I  do  suffer  love  indeed,  for  I  lore 
Ihee  against  my  will.  Much  Ado  About  Nothing. 

IN  the  pretty  bine  sitting-room,  to  which  only  a  very  few  of 
Miss  Craven's  friends  ever  penetrated,  Phoebe  Owen  sat 
next  morning,  looking  out  upon  the  passers-by,  yet  without 
criticising  or  studying  their  dress,  as  it  had  been  her  wont 
to  do.  In  fact,  she  only  looked  down  upon  them  by  force 
of  habit,  and  hardly  saw  them  as  she  did  so.  There  lay  a  new 
novel  on  the  window-seat  beside  her,  but  for  almost  an  hour 
its  pages  had  not  been  turned. 

Phosbe  was  thinking.  It  was  a  new  art  she  had  acquired, 
and  it  sat  rather  unfamiliarly  upon  her,  but  still  the  power 
lent  her  fair  Dutch  face  a  charm  which  it  had  never  pos- 
sessed while  all  her  thought  had  been  concentrated  on  her 
own  shallow  plans.  Phoebe  could  feel  now  how  those  old 
years  had  been  wasted  ;  and  while  she  felt,  as  she  often  did, 
that  the  evil  could  never  be  undone,  she  was  unconsciously 
undoing  it.  That  regret  for  her  own  selfish  and  useless 
girlhood  had  only  fluttered  regretfully  through  her  thoughts 
to-day,  for  they  had  been  centred  in  loving  anxiety  upon 
her  cousin. 

"  I  cannot  understand  it,"  she  mused,  leaning  her  head 
upon  one  plump  hand,  "  I  wish  I  could,  and  I  wish  I  could 
help  her.  But  somehow  it  seems  as  if  no  one  could  help 
jner  ;  while  she,  even  in  her  own  anxiety,  seems  helping  ua 
all.  She  never  even  pretended  to  go  to  bed  last  night — this 
morning,  I  mean,  for  I  was  late  returning,  though  Honor 
had  promised  to  wait  for  me  at  Lady  Somerson's.  /  went 
to  bed  and  fell  asleep  at  once,  never  guessing  that  Honor 


OLD  MYODELTO**-   MONEY.  233 

was  not  in  bed  too.  And  her  maid  says  she  changed  her 
dress,  and  sat  quite  still  in  her  own  room,  reading  and 
thinking,  until  it  was  possible  to  semi  for  Mr.  Stafford, 
Does  she  really  think  that  he  can  explain  this  mysterious 
disappearance  of  Mr.  Keith  ?  Why  should  it  alarm  her — 
for  that  it  does,  I  am  quite  sure,  though  she  smiles  and  only 
says,  'Perhaps  he  was  called  suddenly  abroad.'  .As  if  that, 
were  possible,  and  his  valet  not  even  know  of  it.  How  I 
wish  Honor  would  come  in  here  !  She  said  she  would,  so  I 
will  wait,  but  she  is  a  long  time.  Mr.  Stafford  has  been 
here  an  hour  or  more.  I  wish  she  would  come  ;  but  I  wish, 
above  all  things,  that  I  could  help  her." 

And  the  wish  was  earnest  and  unselfish,  as  few  of  Phoebe's 
wishes  had  ever  been  before,  and  she  had  'little  idea — as  she 
mused  of  the  change  in  Honor — of  the  still  greater,  though 
so  different,  change  in  herself. 

"  Yes,  I  will  wait,  because  Honor  said  she  would  come." 
And,  for  the  twentieth  time,  she  took  up  her  book  to  read, 
while  her  eyes  were  raised  to  the  door  every  minute,  and  her 
ears  were  open  for  the  sound  of  a  light  footfall. 

Phoebe  had  said  truly  that  the  lawyer  had  been  far  more 
than  an  hour  closeted  with  Honor,  but  even  when  he  rose 
to  go,  he  had  not  dispelled  the  puzzled  sadness  on  her 
face,  and  had  gathered  a  great  concern  on  his  own. 

"  It  is  too  long  ago,  Miss  Craven,"  he  said,  again  and 
again,  most  regretfully.  "  Except  in  the  very  improbable 
case  of  a  confession  from  a  possible  murderer,  no  clue  to  hang 
suspicion  on  another  can  arise  now.  I  have  done  all  that 
can  be  done,  so  far  as  I  may  say  so,  but  I  have  not  met 
with  the  faintest  shadow  of  success,  and  I  fear  I  must  add 
that  I  do  not  expect  ever  to  do  so." 

"  You  will  not  cease  this  effort  you  are  making  ? " 
urged  Honor. 

"  I  will  not  indeed,"  he  answered,  with  gentle  cordiality, 
grieved  to  see  what  he  thought  such  futile  earnestness,  and 
know  ;«g  that,  in  spite  of  his  great  anxiety  to  serve  her,  he 
was  powerless  to  do  so  in  this  matter. 

**  I  know  you  will  not,  I  know  you  are  very  kind,"  she 
said  wistfully  and  humbly  enough  to  show  that  it  was  pos- 
sible to  be  young  and  beautiful  and  wealthy,  yet  to  have 
the  longing'of  the  heart  unsatisfied ;  "  and  I  feel  that  it 


2 84  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

will  be  possible — only  so  very  hard — to  prove  at  last  th» 
innocence  of  Gabriel  Myddelton,  my  cousin." 

With  a  new  curiosity  in  his  keen  gaze,  the  old  lawyer 
looked  down  upon  his  client. 

"  It  would  be  wiser,  my  dear  Miss  Craven,  to  let  the 
matter  rest.  But  as  you  evidently  think  otherwise,"  he 
added,  changing  his  tone  when  he  saw  her  eyes  sadden,  "  I 
will  think  otherwise,  as  far  as  I  can — at  any  rate,  we  will 
do  all  that  is  possible.  One  of  my  clerks  is  at  Abbotsmoor 
now,  but,  as  I  told  you,  his  searches  and  inquiries  seem 
utterly  unavailing. 

She  thanked  him  for  all  his  help  and  promises,  and  he 
made  a  kind,  vain  effort  to  cheer  her  ;  then  he  went  away 
with  his  thoughts  so  full  of  the  sad  young  face  and  earnest 
voice  that  he  started  from  his  long  reverie  in  surprise  to 
find  that  he  had  been  driven  two  miles  beyond  his  office 
door. 

Left  alone  again,  Honor  tried  to  draw  her  thoughts  away 
from  this  haunting  subject. 

"  I  will  go  to  Phoebe,"  she  said,  and  yet  ehe  lingered  in 
her  solitude,  struggling  with  her  restlessness  and  uneasiness. 

"You  know  whom  alone  I  could  ever  ask  to-be  my  wife  ; 
and  knowing  this,  you  understand  what  a  lonely  life  mine 
will  be." 

The  words  came  back  to  her  just  as  Royden  had  uttered 
them  at  Westleigh  Towers  nearly  two  years  before,  and  she 
could  not  shake  off  their  memory.  She  sat  down  to  the 
piano  and  began  to  play,  hoping  that  the  chords  might  silence 
these  words,  but  somehow  they  fitted  to  them  all.  Sud- 
denly she  rose  with  a  sigh  of  pain,  for  her  hands  and 
thoughts — straying  after  melodies  she  knew — had  uncon- 
sciously fallen  upon  the  Bad  but  exquisit'1  funeral  music  of 
Lucia  di  Lammermoor,  and  its  pathos  aua  tenderness  were 
more  than  she  could  bear  just  now. 

Covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  she  tried  to  shame 
away  these  haunting  thoughts  of  Royden.  She  tried  to 
bring  him  before  her  as  a  man  who  lived  with  a  false  cha- 
racter, under  a  false  name  and  false  pretences,  but  he  would 
Dot  live  so  in  her  mind  even  for  one  minute,  and  she  knew 
that,  under  all  her  pain  for  him,  most  strong  and  steadlaat 
was  the  longing  to  see  him. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  265 

"I  will  go  to  Marie,"  she  said  at  last,  rising  and  pushing 
fche  hair  from  her  white  face  ;  "  she  will  wonder  why  I  have 
not  been." 

Marie  Verrien  rose  from  her  work  when  Honor  entered 
the  neat  and  pretty  little  room,  and  moved  to  meet  her. 
This  she  did  each  day  now,  to  show,  in  eager  gratitude,  how 
her  strength  was  truly — though  so  very  gradually — return* 
ing  to  her,  in  her  new  life  of  ease  and  abundance. 

"  A  little  farther  again  to-day,  Marie,"  said  Honor,  her 
own  sorrows  set  aside,  as  they  always  were,  beside  the  sorrow 
and  the  joy  of  others.  "  It  is  wonderful ;  you  will  walk 
downstairs  soon." 

"  It  is  a  little  farther  to-day,  Miss  Craven,"  said  the  lame 
girl,  looking  proudly  back  along  the  few  yards  she  had 
walked.  "  I  had  grown  frightened,  wondering  why  you  did 
not  come,  and  that  made  me  walk  farther,  being  so  rejoiced 
to  see  you  coming  in." 

Honor  gently  led  the  girl  back  to  her  seat,  then  sat  with 
her,  talking  of  her  work,  her  reading,  her  thoughts,  a 
hundred  things  which  cheered  Marie,  and  made  the  time 
pass  delicious! y,  until  the  hour  for  the  poor  girl  to  be 
wheeled  out  into  the  sunshine,  as  she  was  wheeled  at  Honor's 
wish  every  day,  this  change  being  an  inexpressible  treat  to 
one  who  had  so  much  of  "  lying  still"  in  her  life. 

"  You  have  been  writing,  I  suppose,  Marie  ?  "  said  Honor, 
pointing  to  an  open  desk,  which  had  been  a  present  from 
Lady  Lawrence  to  the  girl  to  whom  she  had  often  chosen, 
tor  purposes  of  her  own,  to  give  hard  words. 

"  No,  Miss  Honor,"  said  Marie,  with  one  of  her  frequent 
attacks  of  shyness,  "  I  have  not  been  writing.  I  have  only 
been  looking  at  my  photographs.  I  have  but  three,  hut 
those  three  I  can  never  look  at  too  often.  You  remember 
this,  Miss  Craven  ?  " 

As  she  spoke  she  took  from  her  desk  a  photograph  Honor 
had  seen  one  day  in  the  little  kitchen  at  East  Cottage,  and 
she  laid  it  gently  in  Honor's  outstretched  hand. 

"  I  have  seen  it,"  said  Honor,  hurriedly,  and  passed  it 
back. 

But  in  the  next  instant  she  had  drawn  her  hand  tmvarda 
her  again,  and  had  bent  her  eyes  gravely  on  the  picture. 
There  sat  Hoyden  on  his  own  wide  solitary  hearth,  with  his 


£86  OLD  MTDDELTON'8  MONEY. 

c'o^a  aboat  him,  and  a  deep  thoughtfulness  within  his  eyes  ; 
rud  UP  she  looked,  those  words  rushed  back  again,  and  filled 
her  eyes  with  tears — 

"  Knowing  this,  you  understand  what  a  lonely  life  mine 
mnst  be." 

With  a  lingering  gesture  which  was  pitifully  tender,  she 
laid  the  photograph  back  in  its  place.  Then  she  took  up 
an  inartistic  portrait  of  Marie's  father,  and  talked  brightly 
and  pleasantly  of  the  little  Frenchman,  until  Marie's 
heart  was  full  of  loving  pride  and  pleasure,  and  until  a 
servant  came  to  summon  her,  and  Honor  nodded  a  bright 
good-hye. 

Phoebe  was  not  alone  when  Honor  joined  her  after 
Marie's  departure.  Captain  Trent  had  just  been  admitted, 
and  was  now,  like  Phoebe,  watching  the  door  for  Honor's 
entrance.  She  welcomed  him  with  all  her  old  brightness, 
though  not  with  her  old  raillery,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
cousins  were  chatting  pleasantly  together,  though  Phoebe's 
curious  eyes  were  not  satisfied  with  Honor's  smile,  nor  did 
the  ears  of  Captain  Trent  deceive  him  when  he  missed  some 
ring  of  brightness  in  her  tone.  So  thoroughly  happy  she 
made  them  in  her  presence,  though — as  she  always  could 
do — that  they  were  only  half  convinced  of  their  fancies. 

The  Duchess  of  Hartreigh,  a  pompous  old  lady,  whose  one 
strong  effort  through  this  season  had  been  to  forward  her 
Bon's  eager  courtship  of  the  girl-millionaire,  called  at 
luncheon  time,  and  so  Hervey  stayed  too,  and  they  had 
quite  a  merry  meal ;  but  nothing  would  persuade  Honor  to 
accept  the  duchess'e  urgent  entreaty  that  she  would  take  a 
seat  in  her  carriage  for  the  Park,  wher^— a<ter  allowing  due 
time  for  her  shopping — the  wily  old  lady  knew  that  her  son 
would  be  waiting  to  join  them. 

"  But  you  will  go  with  t/s,  Honor  ?  "  pleaded  Phoebe, 
when  the  ducal  vehicle  had  rolled  pompously  away.  "  Our 
presence  was  your  excuse,  so  it  will  be  quite  natural  for  yon 
to  go  with  us." 

"  Quite  natural,"  assented  Honor,  tiredly  ;  "  but  I  would 
rather — I  do  not  caie  lor  that  crowd  in  the  Park  to-day, 
Phoebe." 

Still,  when  she  saw  a  cloud  fall  on  Phoebe's  face  at  this 
refusal,  the  changed  her  mind.  It  would  give  her  cousin 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MOXEY,  187 

real  enjoyment,  which  it  always  did,  and  the  chief  pleasure 
which  Honor's  unselfish  nature  knew  was  that  of  rendering 
others  happy.  So,  with  a  smile  and  kiss,  she  promised  to 
go  ;  and,  as  they  drove  round  and  round  the  well-woro 
track— Hervey,  only  one  now  of  the  many  gentlemen  who 
sought  a  footing  for  himself  or  his  horse  beside  the  splendid 
carriage — many  an  envious  thought  and  glance  were  given 
her  by  hearts  far  lighter,  and  eyes  that  had  never  known 
such  tears  as  Honor  had  shed  that  day. 

"  May  I  come  in  to-night  ? "  asked  Hervey,  when  he 
parted  from  them  at  the  door.  "  I  am  under  a  promise  to 
dine  with  my  aunt  and  Theodora,  but  may  I  come  to  you 
afterwards  ? " 

"  No,"  smiled  Honor,  "  you  ought  to  stay  with  them.  I 
suppose  it  is  of  no  use  my  sending  any  message  to  Theo,  she 
has  quite  cut  off  all  old  acquaintanceship  with  us  ?  " 

"  Lucky  thing  for  you,"  put  in  Captain  Trent,  briskly. 

"  So  has  Jane,"  continued  Honor,  not  heeding  his  remark 
"  I  have  had  such  a  very  emphatic  refusal  of  my  last  invi- 
tation to  her." 

"  Another  lucky  thing  for  you.  I  shall  come,  Honor, 
please,"  he  urged,  with  perseverance.  "  If  the  house  is 
closed,  I  can  but  go  back  to  my  own  quarters." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

I  will  (he  cried),  so  help  me  God !  destroy 
That  villain  Archimage  (the  demon  of  indolence). 

THOMSOW. 

HONOR  and  Phoebe  were  alone  together  when  Captain  Trent 
came  in,  after  his  visit  to  Mrs.  and  Miss  Trent  in  Harley 
Street.  The  girls  had  spent  a  quiet  evening  at  home,  and 
though  Phoebe  had  looked  upon  herself  in  the  light  of  a 
voluntary  martyr  when  she  had  insisted  on  staying  at  home, 
because  Honor  would,  she  found  she  was  very  thoroughly 
enjoying  the  novelty  of  an  unengaged  night. 
She  looked  into  Hervey's  face  when  he  entered,  and  in  a 


Z88  OLD  MTDDELTON'8  MONEY. 

moment  betrayed  her  surprise,  for  it  was  evident  that  he  had 
been  terribly  excited. 

Honor  had  looked  up  too  when  he  entered,  and  saw  thf 
change  in  an  instant  ;  but  this  change  hardly  seemed  to 
surprise  her.  The  traces  of  angry  excitement  improved  him, 
and  the  restraint  which  he  had  evidently  put  upon  himself 
gave  a  new  strength  to  his  features,  and  a  glimpse  of  steady 
courage  to  his  face. 

"  Are  they  well  in  Harley  Street  ?  "  asked  Honor,  when, 
without  his  characteristic  languor,  he  had  taken  a  seat 
beside  her. 

"  Yes,  quite  well — thank  you,  Honor." 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  his  usual  tone,  but  the 
first  were  sharply,  almost  viciously,  spoken.  Then  he  fell 
into  a  moody  silence,  while  Honor  wondered  whether  he 
wished  to  tell  them  what  was  vexing  him,  or  whether  he 
might  think  it  an  intrusion  on  his  thoughts  ;  and  while 
Phoebe  sat  quite  still,  and  by  the  absence  of  her  vague  and 
gushing  quest  ons  showed  to  him,  more  plainly  than  au»ht 
else  could  have  shown  it,  the  change  which  these  last  few 
months  had  wrought  in  her. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  have  engagements  for  to-night," 
he  said,  presently. 

"  Honor  did  not  wish  to  go  out,"  replied  Phoebe,  quietly, 
"BO  I  would  not." 

Another  proof  of  the  change  in  her,  and  Bervey  was  not 
slow  to  appreciate  it. 

'*  I — have  had  a  nice  evening,"  he  said,  sarcastically  • 
betraying  at  once  not  only  his  willingness  to  tell  all  they 
could  wish  to  hear  about  himself,  but  even  his  anxiety  to 
dp  so.  "Honor,  just  think  of  my  aunt  seizing  upon  me 
directly  I  arrived,  and  hinting — very  strongly  hinting,  if  it 
could  be  called  anything  really  short  of  plainly  speaking 
out — that  it  was  high  time  for  me  to  arrange  about  my 
marriage  !  She  supposed  I  never  should  be  any  richer — or 
a  more  desirable  husband — than  I  am  now,  and  so  it  was 
childish  to  wait  any  longer.  Of  course  she  had  hoped  that 
I  should  have  been  old  Myddelton's  heir  1  but  that 
since  " 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Honor,  quietly,  when  Hervey, 
•trundling  the  words  upon  his  lips,  roee  excitedly  and  paced 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  389 

to  and  fro  in  the  room.  "It  would  be  better  not  to  tell  us 
au  all,  Hervey  ;  but  certainly  do  not  repeat  what  relates  to 
me." 

"  How  she  dare  say  it ! "  fumed  Hervey.  "  I — it  was  no 
wonder  I  lost  command  over  myself,  and  told  her  a  little — 
I'm  sorry  now  to  remember  how  little  it  was — of.  my 
opinion  of  her." 

"  Hush,  Hervey — do  not  tell  us  that." 

"I  must,"  he  cried;  "I  must  tell  you,  Honor,  I  must 
tell  both  of  you,  for  the  words  seem  bursting  from  me,  and 
— and  there  are  resolutions  struggling  behind,  which  I  must 
utter  aloud  to  you.  No  one  ever  helps  me  but  you,  Honor 
• — do  let  me  tell.  Theo  herself  came  in  then,  and — and  I 
really  do  not  quite  know  what  she  said.  She  supposed  that 
we  were  to  marry  ;  she  had  always  supposed  it ;  and  it  was 
just  as  well  it  should  be  now — a  marriage  in  the  season  was 
a  little  less  of  a  bore  than  a  marriage  out  of  the  season  ; 
and  as  it  had  always  seemed  to  be  an,  arranged  plan  — 
Bah  !  I  can  repeat  no  more  of  her  cold,  seltish,  heartless 
words.  Honor,  there  has  never  been  one  word  of  marriage 
uttered  between  us — never,  on  my  honour  as  a  gentleman  ; 
and  why  should  there  be  now,  when  the  prospect  of  a  future 
spent  with  Theodora  would  hang  over  me  like  a  curse.  I 
told  her" — - 

"  Hervey,"  pleaded  Honor,  gently,  "  I  wish  you  would 
not  tell  us." 

"  I  must,"  he  answered,  stopping  to  entreat  her  patience 
by  a  glance.  "  At  least,"  he  went  on,  modifying  his  words, 
when  he  saw  how  thoroughly  she  was  in  earnest,  "  I  will 
not  tell  you  all  she  said,  for  it  is  too  contemptible  even  to 
be  remembered  ;  but  I  must  tell  you  that  I  did  not  utter 
one  taunting  remainder  of  her  pursuit  of  Royden  Keith, 

when  she  taunted  me  of ,  taunted  me,  and  stung  me 

almost  to  madness." 

"  Sit  down,  Hervey,"  said  Honor,  gently,  "  and  ring  the 
bell,  please.  We  will  have  one  of  the  petits  sobers  you 
like  so  much." 

"  Oh.  Honor,"  he  panted,  standing  before  her  for  a 
moment,  "  such  a  scene  as  that  would  have  roused  any  man. 
To  be  expected  to  live  all  your  life  with  a  woman  who 
eauuot  utter  one  kind  word  of  those  that  are  dearer  to  you 


290  OLD  IfYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

than  life  itself,  and  to  find  so  suddenly  that  yon  are  as  mnch 
to  blame  as  she  !  Oh,  Honor,  what  a  lazy,  inert,  selfish 
life  I  have  led  !  How  can  I  blame  Theodora  for  taking  my 
bondage  for  granted,  when  I  made  no  effort  to  prove  myself 
free  ?  It  all  came  back  to  me  so  wretchedly  to-night  ;  and, 
but  for  the  lessons  I  have  learnt  in  this  dear  home  of  yours, 
I  should  have  been  more  unmanly  than  I  have  ever  been. 
But  your  lessons  and  your  help  have  not  been  all  in  vain, 
Honor  ;  and,  though  I  grew  half  maddened  there,  I  did  not 
speak  a  word  that  even  you  might  not  have  heard  ;  and 
though,  in  my  anger,  I  declared  I  should  tell  you  what  they 
gaid  of  you,  I  have  not  done  so — I  would  not  have  done  so, 
even  if  you  had  not  silenced  ine..  As  for  what  Theo  said 
of  Phoebe" 

"  Does  not  your  promise  of  silence  hold  good  as  regards 
Phoebe  too  ?  "  inquired  Honor,  smiting,  as  she  laid  her  hand 
on  Phoebe's. 

"  Yes.  I  told  them  I  wished  they  could  see  how  different 
she  was  from  " 

"  Come,  Hervey,  do  ring.  We  are  hungry.  See  how  late 
it  is  ;  and  Phoebe  has  been  playing  to  me  for  hours." 

"Honor  always  pretends  she  likes  me  to  play  to  her," 
put  in  Phoebe,  deprecatingly  ;  ''  but  of  course  she  only  pre- 
tends. Mine  are  all  stupid  pieces,  and  I  play  them  generally 
wrong,  too." 

"Phoebe,"  said  Hervey,  pausingbeforeherandspeaking  with 
a  glimpse  of  simple,  courageous  earnestness,  which  showed 
him  in  the  colours  of  true  manliness  at  last,  "  neither  you 
nor  I  can  ever  know  why  Honor  is  so  good  to  us  ;  for,  in 
old  times,  I  galled  her  with  my  shallow  patronage,  and  you 
allowed  her  to  deny  herself  perpetually  for  you.  "We — we 
can  only  gratefully  accept  her  goodness,  and  try — as  I  will 
try  harder  than  ever  from  to-night — to  repay  her  in  the  way 
she  likes  best.  Don't  cry,  Phoebe,"  he  added,  while  the 
tears  were  very  near  his  own  eyes  too  ;  "  don't  be  offended 
with  me  for  the  thoughtless  words  I  have  said  to-night.  Let 
us  be  good  friends  always.  May  we  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cried  Phoebe  heartily,  as  she  laid  her  plump 
little  hand  in  He-'vey's  proffered  palm  ;  "  and  you  will  not 
think  of  me  according  to  what  Theodora  says,  Hervey  ?  " 

"  Never.    I  will  think  of  you  only  according  to  my  OWE, 


OLD  MYDDELTON'B  MONEY.  291 

/ndgment ;   or,   better    still,   according    to  what    Honor 
says." 

"  You  think  of  Honor,"  whispered  Phrebe,  softly,  "  as 
pour  good  angel,  Hervey." 

"  I  do,"  he  answered,  thoughtfully  ;  "  I  have  cause  to  do 
BO  when  I  recollect  from  what  she  saved  me.  I  have  tried 
to  be  different — I  have,  indeed — but  from  to-night  I  will 
try  harder  still.  I  will  waste  no  more  days  in  self- love  and 
indolence — no  more  !  Will  you  take  my  hand,  Honor,  in 
registration  of  that  vow  ?  " 

Mutely  Phoebe  sat  and  waited.  After  Honor's  ready 
hand-clasp  and  cheering  words,  would  he  seek  hers  too  ? 

Yes  ;  he  came  towards  her  in  this  new,  quiet  earnestness 
of  his,  and  held  his  hand  for  hers. 

"  I  think,"  said  Phoebe,  poftly,  "  that  you  will  not  regret 
this  scene  with  Theodora,  Hervey." 

Nor  did  he. 

The  dainty  little  supper  was  quite  a  cheerful  meal,  while 
still  Honor's  ears  were,  as  they  had  been  all  day,  keenly 
and  painfully  alive  to  every  sound,  and  her  eyes  had  a 
dreamy,  waiting  look,  lying  ever  behind  their  warm,  bright 
smile. 

The  cousins  were  standing  together,  about  to  separate, 
when  the  peal  of  the  visitors'  bell  woke  the  silence  of  the 
house.  Honor,  unconscious  what  she  did,  started  back  with 
one  quick,  indrawn  breath  ;  and  both  to  Hervey  and  to 
Phoebe,  then,  was  it  plain  that  she  had  dreaded  tidings  of 
some  kind.  They  saw  her  face  grow  deadly  white,  though 
the  name  announced  was  a  friendly  aud  familiar  one — 

"  Sir  Philip  Somerson." 

They  saw  her  strive,  as  she  went  forward  to  meet  him,  to 
hide  the  anxiety  which  burned  almost  feverishly  in  her 
beautiful  eyes.  They  saw  that  the  Baronet  met  her  very 
gravely  and  very  pitifully  ;  and,  seeing  this,  they  knew  that 
the  tidings  which  he  bore  could  not  be  happy  ones. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MO.Nfcl. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small ; 

For  the  great  God  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  alL 

COLERIDGB. 

Two  nights  before  this,  Royden  Keith,  just  as  he  had 
finished  dressing  for  Honor  Craven's  ball,  had  been  inquired 
for  by  a  stranger. 

u  A  woman,  sir — and  she  will  not  give  her  message  to 
me." 

So  Pierce  had  said,  and  Royden,  without  demur,  had  sent 
for  her  to  his  presence. 

"  I  am  come,  sir,"  said  the  woman,  giving  her  message  a 
little  hurriedly  ;  "  from  one  who  is  dying,  and  who  prays  to 
see  you  first.  She  bade  me  give  no  name.  I  was  only  to 
say  this — Would  you  give  further  help  to  the  mother  whose 
child  you  once  saved  ?  " 

"  I  remember,"  said  Royden,  without  any  hesitation.  "  I 
will  come." 

He  did  not  give  utterance  to  the  surprise  he  felt  at 
hearing  that  the  woman  who  had  seemed  to  shrink  from 
him  each  time  he  saw  her  at  Abbotsmoor,  and  had  secretly 
eluded  him  at  last,  to  escape  to  London,  had  yet  sought  him 
out,  and  sent  for  him  in  her  last  hour.  He  saw  that  this 
messenger  was  in  total  ignorance  of  all  save  her  own  errand; 
and  he  saw,  too,  that  she  was  anxious  to  return.  So  he 
threw  a  loose  grey  coat  over  his  evening  dress  and  followed 
her.  She  started  on  in  front,  as  if  she  knew  only  the  task  of 
acting  as  guide,  but  he  soon  overtook  her  and  called  a 
cab. 

"Please  stop  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard,'*  she  said  to  tho 
cabman,  in  a  quick,  business-like  voice  ;  and  Royden  won- 
llered  how  it  could  be  that  the  timid,  country-bred  woman 
from  that  cottage  in  the  green  lanes  near  Abbotsmoor  could 
have  voluntarily  come  to  live  m  tne  very  heart  of  the  City. 

"  I  told  him  to  stop  here,"  Royden's  guide  said,  when 
they  left  the  cab,  and  turned  into  Dean's  Court,  because  the 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  2'J3 

wheels  sound  so  noisy  sometimes,  however  high  up  the 
rooms  may  be.  This  way,  please,  sir." 

They  walked  for  a  few  minutes  along  narrow  thorough- 
fares, whose  only  radiance  was  their  tavern  windows,  then 
stopped  before  a  tall,  gaant  house,  whose  lower  windows 
were  all  dark. 

Following  the  light  his  guide  carried,  Royden  climbed  the 
steep,  bare  stairs,  flight  after  flight,  until  she  stood  before  a 
c)osed  door,  and  waited  for  him. 

"This  is  the  r<  om,  sir,"  she  whispered  ;  "  I  am  not 
coming  in,  but  I  will  be  ready  if  you  want  me.  I  live  a  few 
doors  lower  down  the  street,  but  she  and  me"  (pointing  to 
the  closed  door)  "  made  friends  a  bit,  finding  trouble  had 
visited  us  both.  I  like  to  do  all  I  can  for  her,  just  as  1  be- 
lieve she  would  hare  done  it  for  me  ;  BO  I'll  wait  below,  sir, 
and  be  ready  if  you  call  me.  Margaret  my  name  is — so  is 
hers,  and  that  drew  us  together  a  bit,  too.  It  takes  no 
stronger  a  tie  than  that,  sometimes,  to  draw  together  two 
that,  but  for  each  other,  might  starve  up  here,  and  die  with- 
out a  friendly  word  or  glance.  Margaret,  sir,  don't  forget." 

She  turned  away  without  waiting  for  any  answer,  and 
Royden  looked  after  her  pitifully.  Surely  here  a  helping 
hand  and  heart  were  needed  ! 

He  quietly  opened  the  door  to  which  he  had  been  guided, 
and  found  himself  in  a  small  room,  neat  and  clean,  but 
hohling  no  occupant.  Opposite  him  another  door  stood 
ajar,  and  when  he  had  knocked  upon  that,  a  slow  and  heavy 
voice  bade  him  come  in. 

In  this  room  a  woman  lay  upon  a  small  bed,  facing  the 
open  window,  before  which  a  candle  burned  steadily  in  the 
heavy  city  atmosphere  of  the  June  night.  In  a  moment  he 
recognised  the  face  upon  the  pillows,  though  the  cheeks 
were  gaunt  and  hollow,  and  the  eyes  (beyond  their  old 
nunted  look)  had  a  feverish  fire  in  their  depths,  as  they 
rested  fixedly  upon  a  child  who*  lay  sleeping  in  a  tiny  bed 
beside  her  own. 

"  I  am  come,"  said  Royden,  in  his  kind  and  quiet  tones  ; 
and  he  laid  his  fingers  on  the  burning  hand  which  rested 
heavily  upon  the  coverlet. 

The  dying  woman's  eyes  turned  swiftly  from  the  child, 
and  fasieued  themselves  upon  the  handsome,  pitiful  face 


294  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY 

beside  her.  Royden  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  bed.  and  m\ 
there  easily — just  as  if  waiting  were  not  wearisome  to 
him. 

"  How  is  the  boy  ?  "  he  asked,  pleasantly  meeting  the 
steady  gaze. 

"  Well,"  she  answered,  the  word  dropping  slowly  from  he) 
dry  lips.  "  "Well,  but  you  saved  him — only  to  be  left- 
alone — at  last." 

"  Alone  ?    Is  there  no  one  " 

"  No  one,"  she  answered  ;  the  words  were  a  terrible  efforf 
to  her,  as  her  eyes  grew  wider  in  their  speechless  question- 
ing. "  What  can— I  do  ?" 

"  Your  kind  neighbour,"  suggested  Royden,  his  thoughts 
wandering  from  the  words  he  uttered. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  moving  her  hand  backwards  and 
forwards  in  its  heavy,  restless  weakness.  "  I  have  no 
neighbours.  I — was  afraid  of  them.  You  mean  the  one 
who  fetched  you.  She  is — poor — and  sickly.  It  would  be 
cruel." 

"  Do  not  fear,  then,"  said  Eoyden,  very  quietly.  "  Your 
boy  shall  be  taken  care  of.  I  promise  this." 

"  He — he  has  a  little  money — a  little — his  father's,"  she 
said,  a  momentary  feverish  joy  brightening  her  eyes,  and 
fading  again  as  suddenly.  "I  shall  not  leave  him  in 
poverty.  But  alone,  and  in  this  great  world  of" 

"  He  shall  not  be  alone,"  said  Royden.  "  He  shall  have 
care  and  guidance  while  he  is  young,  and  help  when  he  is 
older." 

She  did  not  answer  this,  and  he  even  fancied  that  the 
longing — terrible  in  its  keen  anxiety — of  her  feverish 
eyes,  grew  more  and  more  intense  now  that  his  promise 
was  given.  Some  anguished  doubt  was  weighing  on  her 
eyes,  as  he  saw  ;  but  how  could  he  help  to  fathom  it, 
unless  he  uttered  words  which  should  betray  his  own  BUS. 
picion  ? 

"  The  money  is  there,"  she  said,  pointing  to  a  worn  bank- 
book which  lay  beside  her  on  the  bed.  "  Take  it,  and — 
dying — I  know  you  will  keep  your — promise.  Two  years 
ago,  when  you  saved  him — I  trusted  you  ;  I  could  not  help 
it ;  but  when  you  asked  me  " 

A  sudden  pause,  for  her  voieg  farted  ,  but  in  the  long 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  295 

silence  that  searching  gaze  grew  inexpressibly  painful  in  its 
:uute  questioning. 

"  Margaret,"  said  Royden,  bending  above  the  troubled  face, 
nnd  speaking  very  low  and  kindly,  "  you  have  something  to 
tell  me  which  you  ought  to  tell  before  you  meet  your  Judge 
in  Heaven." 

A  spasm  of  pain  shot  across  the  hot  face,  so  rapid  that  in 
one  second  it  had  passed. 

"  I — cannot —  '  The  words  faltered  and  fell  brokenly  now 
through  her  stiff  lips.  "  I  cannot — nor  dare — I  meet — my 
Judge." 

If  it  had  not  been  for  this  unexpected  message,  Royden 
Keith  would  now  have  been  participating  in  a  scene  of 
brilliancy  and  mirth  most  utterly  opposed  to  this  dying 
hour,  and  he  would  have  been  gay  amongst  the  gay.  But 
he  had  no  thought  now  for  that  scene — no  memory  of  it 
even.  His  post  of  duty  lay  before  him  here,  and  in  that 
earnest,  steadfa  t  faith  which  belonged  to  him,  he  was  able 
to  brighten  and  cheer  this  dying  bed,  and  gently  Lead  the 
groping  soul  a  little  nearer  to  its  God. 

"  It — is  a  mist,"  she  said,  raising  one  hand  for  a  moment, 
as  if  she  would  cut  through  the  space  before  her,  while 
Royden  whispered  to  her  of  Him  who  is  always  waiting  to 
pardon  and  save  ;  who  not  only  standeth  at  the  door  iu 
His  great  patience,  but  knocketh  untiringly. 

"  I  know  He  is  there — I  have  known  it  for  years,  but  I 
— I  want  to  feel  His  hand,  to  see  His  face,  and  something  is 
between  us." 

Again  the  words  ended  suddenly  and  shortly,  in  the 
raised,  feverish  tones,  and  the  mute,  eager  question  of  the 
dying  eyes  spoke  vaguely  and  miserably  in  the  silence — a 
silence  broken  presently  by  Royden's  voice,  as,  on  his 
knees  beside  the  bed,  he  pleaded  with  the  Father  for  this 
troubled  child.  The  woman's  hard,  quick  breath  was  soft- 
ened as  she  lay  and  listened. 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  Lord,"  she  sobbed,  when  Royden's  voice 
*as  hushed,  "  accept  that  prayer  for  me." 

When  he  rose,  he  took  a  Bible  which  he  saw  lying  open 
on  a  chair,  and  softly  read  to  her  the  Saviour's  precious 
words  of  pardon  and  of  promise.  And  while  he  did  so, 
the  eye;  which  he  could  not  see,  lost  sornewhat  of  their 


296  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

troubled  fixity  of  gaze,  and  there  straggled  into  them  a 
gleam  of  hope. 

"  She  read  to  me,"  the  woman  faltered,  with  a  faint  ges- 
ture towards  the  closed  door,  "but  she  read  of  other  things. 
There  was  always — the  great  white  Throne — always  ;  and 
I  could  see  Him  there — a  Judge,  my  Judge  ;  and  she  rend 
— it  might  be  only  once,  but  1  heard  it  afterwards  in  every 
line — that  all  liars  shall — have  their  part — ah  !  I  forgot  it 
all  while  you  read.  I — I  saw  Him — a  Father — ready  to 
pardon  me — waiting  to  pardon  me.  I  shall  see — other 
things — clearly  if — if  you  help  me  still." 

And  while  the  quiet  hours  of  the  June  night  stole  on, 
Royden's  own  kind  words,  and  those  calm  and  wondrous 
words  he  read,  did  help  her. 

The  candle  had  burnt  down  to  its  socket,  and  the  faint 
Bummer  dawn  was  creeping  through  the  open  window,  when 
the  neighbour  who  had  fetched  Royden  entered  with  a  cup 
of  tea  for  the  sick  woman.  Instinctively  he  made  a  move- 
ment then  to  leave  the  room,  but  suddenly  all  the  wistful, 
troubled  eagerness  returned  to  the  wide  eyes  upon  the 
pillow. 

"  You  go,  Margaret,"  the  dying  woman  cried,  with  an 
entreating  gesture  ;  let  him  stay.  I — I  have  something 
to  tell  him." 

Yet  still,  when  left  again  with  Royden,  she  lay  in  silence, 
and  told  nothing. 

Then  the  hours  crept  on  again,  until  the  light  fell  straight 
from  heaven  upon  the  dying  face  to  which  no  sleep  had 
come  ;  and  to  which  no  sleep  could  ever  come  again,  until 
one  last  touch  should  close  the  troubled  eyes  for  ever. 

Just  as  Royden  returned  to  the  bedroom,  after  carrying 
away  the  smouldering  candle,  the  little  boy  awoke  ;  and, 
waking  just  as  he  had  fallen  asleep,  with  a  vague  sense  of 
misery  and  loneliness  upon  him,  he  stretched  out  his  hands 
to  his  mother,  and  sobbed  as  if  his  little  frame  could  not 
rontain  its  load  of  fear  and  grief.  The  mother,  powerless  in 
her  weakness,  saw  Koydun  take  the  child  tenderly  within 
his  arms,  and  hearr.  the  nobs  grow  faint  and  few  at  last 
upon  his  breast.  Then  her  long  watchful  silence  was 
broken  sharply,  a  light  broke  across  the  fixed  gaze,  and  with 
sudden  feverish  strength  she  rose  in  her  bed, 


OLD  MYODELTON'S  MONEY.  297 

*  1  want — a  magistrate  !  "  she  cried,  and  clasped  her 
burning  hands.  "  It  is  all  clear  before  me  now.  My  child 
— it  was  for  my  child  I  feared — but  he  will  not  suffer.  I 
read  that  in  your  face.  Ah  !  God  is  good — so  good — and 
it  is  not  too  late  !  Let  me — see — a  magistrate  ! " 

"  I  will  bring  one,"  said  Royden,  gently  putting  the  child 
out  of  his  arms. 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried  again,  "  not  you,  for  it  may  be  too 
late.  Let  her  go.  Call  her  ;  say  '  Margaret,'  and  she  will 
come.  Let  her  go.  She  will  understand,  and  she  knows 
London.  She  will  manage,  as  she  managed  to — to  bring 
you." 

Almost  like  one  in  a  dream,  Eoyden  returned  to  the  sick- 
room, after  having  despatched  the  neighbourly  woman  who 
waited  to  be  useful.  Was  the  end  of  his  long  search  near 
at  last  ? 

"  Will  he  be  in  time  ?  "  moaned  the  sick  woman,  when 
once  more  he  took  his  place  besi  le  her,  and  the  little  bo,y 
crept  up  and  climbed  to  lay  his  head  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  I  think  so.    He  will  soon  be  here." 

"  But  I  am  dying  fast,  am  I  not  ?  " 

Not  for  the  world  would  Koyden  have  concealed  the  truth 
from  one  whose  every  breath  might  be  her  last,  but  he 
uttered  it  so  kindly,  and  touched  with  such  faith  upon  the 
happiness  beyond,  that  a  glance  almost  as  peaceful  as  a 
emile  shone  in  her  eyes  when  they  met  hie. 

"  Let  me  bid  him  good-bye." 

Hoyden  laid  the  child  upon  the  bed,  and  turned  away 
That  long,  last  parting  between  the  mother  and  son  waf 
most  sacred  in  his  eyes. 

"  You  have  promised,"  she  whispered,  wistfully,  when 
Roy  den  came  presently  to  take  the  child  from  the  bed* 
"  You  have  promised — to  help  him — that  his  life  may  be 
different  from — his  mother's.  There  is  the  book — it  is  but 
little — yet  his  father  wished  " 

"  It  shall  be  used  wisely  for  him,"  Royden  said,  holding 
a  cordial  to  her  lips  when  her  voice  failed.     "  Rest  in  per 
feet  peace.     He  shall  nevei  feel  himself  uncared  for  whilst 
I  live." 

And  now  a  real  smile  lighted  up  the  thin,  worn  faco. 

"  .Now — if  he  will  only  come — in  time — that  is  all." 


f)8  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

He  came  almost-,  as  she  spoke — alight-hearted  gentleman, 
who  looked  upon  all  magisterial  duties  as  the  comedies  of 
life  ;  and  yet  the  dying  woman's  solemn  earnestness  infected 
even  him. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  coming,"  she  faltered4 
humbly.  ''  I  will  not  keep  you  long.  I  know  what  to  do 
—my  father  told  me.  I  " — moving  her  hand  restlessly 
about  the  pillows — "  have  it  here.  Margaret,  where  are  you  ? 
I  can  scarcely  see.  You  put  it  here,  when  I  bid  you  bring 
it  from  my  box — for  me  to  burn — before  I  died.  I  meant 
to  burn  it.  I  left  it  to  the  last ;  but  I — meant  to  burn  it 
— sealed  as  it  is.  I  cannot  now.  lie  saved  my  only  child 
— he  helped  me,  and  will  help  my  boy.  But  for  him  I 
should  have  burnt  it,  and  the  truth  could  never  have  been 
known.  "Where  is  it  ? — where  is  it  ?  My  strength  is 
going." 

Murmuring  soothingly  the  while,  the  woman  who  had 
brought  in  the  magistrate  moved  the  pillows  one  by  one, 
until  she  found  a  packet  tied  and  sealed. 

"  There,  there,"  cried  the  dying  woman,  trying  to  grasp  it 
in  her  hot,  weak  fingers,  and  looking  eagerly  up  into 
Roy  den's  face  ;  "  you  will  understand  it.  I  do  not  forget 
how  you  questioned  me  of  Gabriel  Myddelton — the  ques- 
tions from  which  I  fled.  It  is  for  you — let  me  leave  it 
with  you — but  I  have  something  to  do  first.  Father  told  me 
of  it.  '  In  the  presence  of  a  magistrate,'  he  said.  Now  I 
»m  ready." 

Formally,  with  little  need  of  help  or  direction,  and 
•jlt-arly,  in  spite  of  her  failing  breath  and  feeble  tone,  she 
rook  the  packet  in  her  hands  ;  and  tenderly  touching  the 
LJible  which  they  gave  her,  she  testified  on  oath  to  the  truth 
of  what  the  documents  contained.  Then,  with  a  sigh  which 
sounded  almost  happy,  she  gave  the  packet  into  lioyden'p 
hand,  and  turned  away  her  face. 

The  sun  was  shining  high  above  the  city  roofs  before  the 
tast  heavy  breath  was  drawn.  She  had  begged  that  the  boy 
might  not  see  his  mother  die,  so  the  neighbour  who  had 
been  BO  kind  and  anxious  carried  him  away  to  her  own 
room,  and  Royden  was  watching  alone  when  the  end  came, 
for  the  doctor  hid  left  her,  knowing  he  had  no  power  to  do 
anything  further. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  293 

Just  as  Royden  closed  the  dim,  wide  eyes,  the  woman 
who  had  called  herself  Margaret  noiselessly  entered  the 
room. 

"  Gone  ! "  she  whispered  sadly.  "  She  did  not  need  me 
at  the  last,  then,  but  she  needs  me  now.  They  are  not 
kind  to  her  downstairs — they  never  were.  They  shall  not 
come  near  her  now." 

"  Then  can  you,  and  will  you,  wait  ? "  asked  Eoyden 
anxiously. 

"  I  will  be  with  her,"  she  said,  quietly,  touching  the  white, 
dead  face.  "  She  was  always  solitary,  but  she  would  some- 
times like  me  with  her  for  a  little  even  then.  I  would  not, 
like  her  to  be  left  alone  at  all  now,  and  yet,  when  I  have 
finished  here,  I  must  go  back  to  my  own  room,  to  leave  the 
little  boy  safe,  and  do  one  or  two  things  more." 

"  I  see,"  said  Royden,  as  he  left  the  inner  room  j  "  then 
T  will  wait  for  your  return." 

He  wrote  a  few  directions  to  leave  with  his  card  ;  after 
which  he  saw  the  mistress  of  the  house,  and  took  upon  him- 
self the  responsibility  of  all  expenses  consequent  on  the 
death  of  the  poor  solitary  woman,  and  the  temporary  care  of 
her  boy.  Then,  when  he  was  left  alone,  knowing  he  had 
done  all  he  could  do,  and  that  his  feelings,  whatever  they 
might  be  on  opening  the  papers  given  him,  could  not  inter- 
fere with  this  duty  he  had  taken  upon  himself,  he  sat  down 
in  the  outer  room,  and  broke  the  seal  and  cut  the  string  of 
the  packet  left  with  him. 

It  contained  two  separate  papers,  and  though  the  hand- 
wviting  on  both  was  the  same,  the  signatures  were 
different.  One  was  unintelligible ;  the  other,  written 
evidently  by  the  hand  which  penned  both  papers,  was — 
"  MABGABBT  TERRIT." 


OLD  MYDDELTOH'6  MONET. 


CHAPTER  XXXTV. 

It  is  great  sin  to  swear  unto  A  tin, 
But  greater  sin  to  keep  a  sinful  oath. 


ONE  o'clock  !  The  bell  of  St.  Paul's  clanged  out  the  note 
like  the  opening  chord  of  a  great  military  band,  and,  in  the 
quavering  key  of  an  old  man's  querulous  negative,  a  Dutch 
clock  upon  the  stairs  of  the  lodging-house  answered  the 
single  note.  There  were  more  footsteps  below  than  there 
had  been  through  the  morning,  for  clerks  were  hurrying  to 
their  mid-day  meal,  and,  now  and  then,  a  porter  hastened 
past  with  a  solitary  chop  upon  a  tray — for  a  few  of  the 
masters  in  those  grim  offices  did  not  leave  their  posts  until 
the  office  doors  were  locked  at  five  o'clock,  and  they  came 
forth  to  dissolve  in  the  great  misty  crowd,  and  lose  all 
identity  until,  casting  anchor  for  the  night  in  their  seveml 
suburban  retreats,  they  assumed  an  especial  individuality  in 
a  moment. 

Country  visitors  were  strolling  to  and  fro  in  the  cathedral, 
Bilent  and  open-eyed,  but  wearing,  withal,  the  encumbered 
and  distrait  expression  peculiar  to  sight-seers  who  follow 
conscientiously  the  beaten  track.  In  the  shadow  of  the  great 
dome,  that  inexhaustive  process  of  shopping  wns  pursued 
indefatigably,  its  linked  sweetness  drawn  out  to  its  longest 
capacity.  The  confectioners  were  briskly  aware  that  the 
business  of  the  day  had  begun  in  earnest  for  them  now, 
while  wistful  eyes  feasted  through  the  glass  upon  unat- 
tainable luxuries. 

But,  like  its  shining  herald,  the  day  is  earlier  in  the  east 
than  tn  the  west,  and  even  then  the  guests  who  danced,  and 
laughed,  and  jested  at  Honor  Craven's  ball  last  night,  had 
not  all  risen,  though  the  whirl  of  carriages  had  begun,  and 
the  critical  crowd  at  Burlington  House  was  already  leavened 
with  its  dainty  sprinkling  of  uncritical  beauty  and  fashion. 

Not  a  few  among  this  crowd  looked  anxiously  for  a  frit  nd 
they  missed  last  night  ;  not  a  few  were  (later  on  that  day) 
to  look  in  vain  among  the  faces  and  figures  in  the  park,  for 
one  whose  absence  was  as  disappointing  a*  it  was  inex* 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  80i 

plicable.  Guesses  were  hazarded,  varied  and  wide  apnrt 
enough,  yet  none  fell  near  the  truth  ;  for  who  could  guess 
that  one  of  the  idols  of  this  London  season,  watched  for, 
waited  for,  longed  for,  sat  in  an  attic  in  this  city  thorough- 
fare, deaf  to  all  sounds,  and  blind  to  all  sights  around  him, 
his  grave  eyes  following,  with  a  terrible  earnestness,  the 
badly-written  words  upon  the  paper,  and  his  left  hand  lying 
upon  the  unread  one,  while  his  mind  grasped  promptly, 
word  for  word,  the  one  to  which  was  affixed  the  man's  un- 
certain signature.  And  these  were  the  words  it  bore — 

"  I,  the  undersigned,  Benjamin  Territ,  miner,  living  in 
Abbotsmoor,  and  being  dangerously  ill,  yet,  nevertheless, 
possessing  all  my  intellectual  faculties,  and  finding  that  I 
am  soon  about  to  appear  before  the  judgment  seat  of  God, 
wish  to  appease  the  remorse  of  my  conscience,  and  to  do  an 
act  of  justice,  by  retracting  all  I  said  upon  oath  against 
Gabriel  Myddelton,  in  my  deposition  made  at  Kinbury,  as 
to  his  being  the  murderer  of  his  uncle,  Squire  Gabriel 
Myddelton,  of  Abbotsmoor.  I  declare  before  God  that  that 
deposition  was  not  true,  and  that  I  retract  it  with  all  my 
soul,  before  God  and  before  justice,  and  implore  the 
Sovereign  Judge,  in  His  mercy,  to  accept  this  retractation 
as  being  the  whole  truth. 

"  This,  as  well  as  the  following  confession,  is  written  by 
another  hand,  on  account  of  my  inability  to  write,  from 
accidents  received  in  the  mine  ;  but  it  is  signed  by  me  in 
my  cottage  at  Abbotsmoor,  on  this  fifth  day  of  December, 
one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  sixty-four. 

"On  the  seventh  day  of  March,  one  thousand  eight 
hundred  and  sixty-one,  young  Mr.  Gabriel  MyJdelton  told 
me  of  the  quarrel  he  had  had  with  his  uncle,  and  how  his 
uncle  had  made  a  will  which  had  disinherited  him.  He 
often  came  to  my  cottage,  partly  because  he  could  never 
bear  solitude,  and  my  company  was  as  pleasant,  perhaps,  as 
that  of  any  of  the  fanners  or  cottagers  upon  the  dismal 
estate  ;  and  partly  because  I  encouraged  him,  hoping  that 
I  could  turn  to  account  the  interest  he  took  in  my  daughter 
Margaret.  She  was  a  handsome  girl,  fur  above  other  girls 
on  the  estate,  and  to  the  manor  there  never  came  a  young 
pirl-face  at  all.  If  Gabriel  Myddelton  would  marry 
Margaret,  I  thought,  I  would  even  promise  to  loavo  the 


302  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

neighbourhood,  for  I  knew  the  young  squire  (easy-going  as 
he  might  be)  would!  not  care  to  acknowledge  a  miner  as  his 
father-in-law.  I  should  be  free  to  go  to  what  world  I  chose, 
and  I  would  take  care  that  Margaret's  husband  provided 
me  with  the  money  I  should  need.  And  if  I  grew  tired  of 
that  life  abroad,  I  could  still  come  back  and  have  a  farm 
here  ;  for  I  knew  young  Gabriel  Myddelton  could  be  easily 
intimidated. 

"  But  on  that  day  I  speak  of,  he  brought  an  appalling 
tale.  He  had  quarrelled  with  his  uncle,  had  been  disin- 
herited, and  had  left  Abbotsmoor  for  ever.  He  told  all 
this,  more  to  Margaret  than  to  myself ;  and  the  girl  sat 
beside  the  window  where  he  stood,  and  looked  as  if  some- 
thing had  turned  her  to  stone.  But  I  sat  behind,  and  ate 
my  supper  slowly,  and  did  not  put  in  a  word.  But  for  all 
that,  when  I  got  up  from  the  table,  I  had  made  my  resolu- 
tion ;  and  it  was  not  my  way — it  never  has  been — to  go 
away  from  any  resolution  I  may  have  made,  whatever  stood 
in  the  way. 

"  They  were  early  people  at  Abbotsmoor,  and  I  knew 
that  by  ten  o'clock  the  house  was  always  silent  and  darkened 
for  the  night.  I  knew  the  low  window  of  the  old  squire's 
business-room — the  corner  window  opening  on  the  bit  of 
level  lawn  between  the  shrubbery  and  the  house  — and  that 
window  I  easily  opened  with  my  own  tools.  I  remember 
that  I  rather  enjoyed  the  work,  for  I  had  not  much  cau.se  to 
do  anything  but  hate  old  Squire  Myddelton,  and  I  did  hate 
him  heartily.  I  doubt  if  there  was  a  man,  woman,  or  child 
on  his  estate  who  did  anything  else  ;  for  what  had  he  ever 
been  to  us  to  maKe  us  feel  otherwise  towards  him  ? 

"I  had  but  little  trouble  in  forcing  my  entrance  into  the 
room  ;  very  little  even  in  opening  the  secretary  where  the 
will  lay  ;  but  just  at  the  moment  when  I  grasped  the 
packet,  and  turned  to  effect  my  escape  from  the  house,  the 
inner  door  of  the  room  was  opened,  and  there  was  the 
squire,  advancing  towards  me  with  a  candle  in  his  hand.  I 
acted  on  my  first  impulse — what  else  could  I  do  in  the 
surprise  of  the  moment  ?  I  acted  on  my  first  impulse,  as  I 
have  done  all  through  my  life.  I  dashed  the  candle  from 
his  hand,  and  then — in  the  dense  darkness,  when  I  felt  he 
could  not  recognize  me — I  struck  him  one  deadly  blow  from 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  803 

my  hammer ;  and,  knowing  it  would  do  its  work  on  the 
weak  grey  head,  I  left  him  there  upon  the  floor,  and 
escaped  from  the  window,  with  the  will  in  my  possession.  * 
fled  across  the  lawn,  but  in  the  shrubbery  beyond  I  paused 
a  moment  to  secure  the  parchment  on  my  person.  Then 
came  an  instant's  horrible  shock  ;  the  old  man,  whom  I 
had  left  for  dead,  had  pursued  me  !  He  came  up  to  me 
running,  and  I  could  see  the  crimson  streaks  upon  his  face, 
and  the  thirst  for  vengeance  in  his  failing  eyes — a  fearless 
old  man  in  all  his  meanness.  I  stood  a  moment  facing 
him,  then,  with  one  well-aimed  blow,  laid  him  dead  upon 
the  grass,  and  there  was  no  stain  of  blood  upon  my  hands  or 
clothes. 

"  I  left  him  lying  there,  of  course,  and,  hurrying  through 
the  wood,  reached  my  own  cottage  an  hour  afterwards,  from 
quite  an  opposite  direction. 

"  Gabriel  Myddelton  could  better  tell  the  rest,  as  his 
counsel  told  it  for  him  at  his  trial,  when  my  words  and 
Margaret's,  and  the  facts  which  others  added,  made  the  tale 
of  no  avail.  He  had  retir  ned  from  Kinbury  that  night,  to 
ask  his  uncle's  pardon.  He  had  taken  his  way  through  the 
wood,  intending  to  gain  admission  to  the  squire's  room 
through  the  very  window  I  had  opened,  that  the  servants 
might  not  kno*w  of  his  return  at  all,  if  his  uncle  did  not  for- 
give him.  In  the  wood  he  had  found  his  uncle  lying,  and, 
astonished  and  alarmed  at  what  he  thought  must  be  a 
sudden  illness,  he  had  raised  the  old  man's  head  in  his 
arms.  What  he  saw  I  need  not  tell,  though  I  am  dictating 
this  confession  as  fully  as  possible,  for  a  relief  to  my 
burdened  conscience. 

"A  horrible  fear  seized  young  Gabriel  Myddelton  that 
the  suspicion  of  this  foul  deed  would  fall  upon  himself. 
He  saw  even  then  the  chain  of  evidence  against  him 
which  really  brought  him  at  last  to  the  cell  of  a  doomed 
criminal. 

"  Timid  as  he  was  by  nature,  there  was  but  one  course  he 
could  decide  upon,  lie  fled  from  that  spot  in  the  wood  aa 
(  his  uncle's  fate  awaited  him  there  ;  and  he  never  stopped 
/n  his  flight  until  he  reached  my  cottage,  and  found 
protection  and  help — as  he  fancied.  He  washed  the  blood 
Irum  his  hands,  burned  his  stained  wrist-bands,  and  changed 


804  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

the  coat  on  which  the  old  man's  head  had  fallen  and  left  its 
traces. 

"  Margaret  told  all  this  at  the  trial,  and  I  stood  by,  and 
knew  the  words  would  hang  him.  But  he  himself  h;t  I 
another  explanation  of  the  tale  to  give,  and  now  I  swear  th:it 
his  was  the  truth  ;  and  ours,  though  in  many  respects  tru^ 
to  the  letter,  held  a  lie  in  every  word. 

"I  helped  him  that  nijjht,  simply  that  I  might  know 
where  he  lurked  ;  for,  from  the  first,  I  had  determined  that 
suspicion  must  rest  upon  him.  All  my  old  plans  were 
frustrated  by  this  unnecessary  and  inconvenient  murder, 
and  personal  safety  now  was  my  one  motive  in  every  action. 
In  my  first  fear,  I  had  begun  to  destroy  the  will,  but  I  now 
thought  of  a  fiendishly  skilful  plan.  The  fragments  of  the 
will  which  disinherited  him  should  be  found  in  his  posses- 
sion, and  he  should  be  overtaken  in  his  endeavour  to  escape. 
This,  with  what  my  daughter  and  I  could  tell,  would  fix 
the  crime  upon  him  ;  and  not  for  a  moment  did  the  betrayal 
of  his  confidence  weigh  with  me  beside  my  terror  lest  my 
own  guilt  should  be  discovered. 

"  The  rest  all  followed  as  I  had  planned  and  foreseen. 
What  I  have  told  is  known  only  to  myself  and  my  daughter, 
and  I  have  heard  her  folemn'  oath  that  she  will  add  her 
confession  to  mine.  After  I  had  sworn  to  Gabriel  Mjddel- 
ton's  guilt — yes,  from  the  very  first — I  grew  a  changed  and 
miserable  man  ;  and  this  excruciating  daily  death  which  I 
have  suffered  since  the  clay  fell  upon  me  in  the  mine,  is,  I 
know,  but  a  just  punishment  for  my  crime. 

"  Now — solemnly,  as  if  in  the  presence  of  my  God — I 
swear  thnt  this  is  truth,  and  confirmed,  upon  oath,  in 
the  presence  of  my  daughter  Margaret,  in  whose  hands  I 
leave  it. 

"  (Signed)  BENJAMIN  TERRIT." 

Royden  raised  his  head,  and  for  a  minute  or  two  looked 
dreamily  around  the  room.  The  door  of  the  chamber  <-f 
the  dead  was  locked,  as  he  had  locked  it.  The  sounds  in 
the  street  below  were  but  faint  and  far-off.  Without  ••>. 
change  in  the  intense  gravity  of  his  eyes,  he  leaned  forward 
again  in  the  silence,  and  read  the  second  paper. 

"  Possibly  these  words  will  never  be  read  by  any  eyes  save 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONBY.  305 

my  own,  for  I  only  -write  them  because  ray  father  ext.orfeJ 
an  oath  from  me  that  I  should  do  so,  and  leave  them  to  be 
made  public  after  my  death.  "With  whom  can  I  leave  them? 
Gabriel  Myydelton,  even  jf  he  is  still  alive,  is  too  far  away 
to  be  either  hurt  or  helped  by  this  confession — even  if  it 
were  made  public  to-morrow.  I  am  young  and  strong, 
and  may  wait  years  for  death  to  visit  me.  And  when  it 
does,  who  will  be  near  me  to  bear  this  release  to  Gabriel 
Myddelton  ? 

"  But  I  have  promised  it  shall  be  written,  and  I  will  keep 
the  oath  my  father  made  me  swear,  as  I  kept  that  other 
path  he  wrung  from  me  three  years  ago.  The  task  of  writ- 
ing his  confession  has  been  hard  and  sore,  but  to  write  my 
own  will  be  far  harder.  My  father  looks  upon  his  bodily 
Buffering  as  his  punishment  ;  but  no  punishment  which 
could  be  given  me  on  earth  could  relieve  me  from  the  load  of 
guilt  which  has  been  secretly  and  slowly  killing  me  since  I 
met  that  one  glance  of  Gabriel  Myddelton's,  whilst  the  judge 
pronounced  upon  him  the  sentence  of  death.  My  father 
almost  seems  to  feel  that  he  is  pardoned  for  his  share  in  this 
vile  deed  ;  I  wish  I  dared  to  hope  that  when  I  stand  upon 
that  awful  threshold  of  the  door  of  death,  I  might  feel  that 
I,  too,  am  pardoned.  The  weight  of  guilt  has  borne  me 
down  and  isolated  me  among  my  fellow  creatures,  and  it 
will  weigh  me  down  and  isolate  me  to  the  end. 

"  I  have  very  little  to  add  to  my  father's  confession. 
What  I  told  at  the  trial  about  Mr.  Myddelton's  assuming  a 
disguise  at  our  cottage  was  true  in  every  particular.  What 
I  did  not  tell,  was  his  confession  to  us,  so  honestly  given, 
•nd  which  my  father  has  related.  He  threw  himself  upon 
our  mercy,  and  we  betrayed  him,  and  swore  away  his  life. 
That  thought  stings  me,  even  now,  with  a  pain  worse  than 
death  ! 

"  It  was  an  unnatural  and  unencouraged  thought  of  mine, 
but  I  should  have  said,  up  to  the  day  of  that  trial,  that  I 
would  have  laid  down  my  life  for  Gabriel  Myddelton.  Then 
I  proved  its  falseness  by  laying  his  life  waste  instead  ;  nmi 
my  fear  of  my  father's  threats  and  anger,  and  my  submi&siua 
to  Lis  command  of  obedience,  are  no  excuse  for  me. 

"  I  heard  the  sentence  of  death  parsed  upon  him.  Through 
three  heavy  days  and  wakeful  nights  I  pictured  him  within 


306  OLD   MYDDELTOIT8  MONET. 

those  walls,  a  convicted  felon,  and  I  thought  my  life  had 
burned  itself  out  in  the  passion  of  that  anguish,  and  that 
my  d<>om  was  sealed  as  certainly  as  his. 

"  I  had  a  lover  then  who  was  warder  in  the  Kinbnry  jail, 
and  though  I  had  never  listened  to  him  before,  I  listened 
now,  for  one  plan  and  resolution  had  filled  my  mind.  If  he 
would  save  Gabriel  Myddelton's  life — so  I  told  him — I 
would  be  his  wife  when  he  chose.  Ah  !  surely  that  was  the 
least  I  could  do  for  the  man  whose  name  we  had  blighted, 
and  whose  life  we  had  lied  away. 

"We  helped  each  other,  and  until  the  last  moment  came, 
no  other  thought  was  allowed  to  either  of  us.  It  was  no 
new  thing  to  me  to  lie  awake  at  night  and  think  of  Gabriel 
Myddelton,  but  it  was  new  to  him,  and  I  saw  the  change 
telling  upon  him,  though  I  was  proud  to  feel  that  no  sense 
of  either  fear  or  honour  would  turn  him  from  my  will. 

"  The  day  and  the  hour  came  at  last,  and  though  my  face 
was  white  as  death  that  morning  when  I  rose,  I  felt  more 
nearly  happy  than  I  had  felt  since  that  night  when  Gabriel 
Myddelton's  confidence  in  us  had  been  so  vilely  abused. 

"  My  husband — he  was  my  husband  on  the  following  day 
— hired  for  me  a  large,  low  dog-cart,  closed  at  the  back,  and  u 
fleet  but  very  quiet-looking  pony.  In  this  cart  I  drove 
myself  alone  into  Kinbury,  and,  calling  a  boy  who  stood  in 
the  yard  of  the  jail  (a  boy  brought  there  by  my  husband 
for  this  especial  purpose,  though  he  looked  to  be  only  idling 
there),  gave  the  pony  into  his  charge.  He  stood  steadily  at 
its  head,  his  back  to  the  door  and  to  the  vehicle,  and  I 
passed  in  with  the  order  my  hnsband  had  obtained  foi 
me,  and  was  admitted  by  himself  into  the  condemned  cell. 
What  could  be  feared  from  me,  wheu  it  was  so  well  known 
that  I  had  done  most  of  all  to  bring  the  criminal  to  that 
cell? 

"  I  wore  two  shawls  and  two  dresses  exactly  the  same,  one 
concealed  below  the  other  ;  and  under  my  skirt  I  had 
secreted  a  bonnet,  veil,  and  gloves,  precisely  the  same  aa 
those  I  wore  myself. 

"  My  husband  had  been  for  days  cleverly  acting  his  part, 
and  his  fellow-officials  now  knew  him  to  be  thoroughly 
imbued  with  a  disgust  for  old* Myddelton's  convicted  mu»* 
derer,  and  a  demonstratively  staunch  belief  in  trie  justice  of 


OLD  MYDUELTOITS  MONEY.  302 

riifl  sentence.  So  it  was  that  no  breath  of  suspicion  attached 
to  either  of  us,  and  permission  was  readily  granted  me  to 
eee  Gabriel  Myddelton,  on  the  plea  thab  I  had  lived  near 
him  all  my  life,  and  we  had  been  children  together. 

"  By  skilful  means,  my  husband  attracted  the  turnkeys 
a&  far  as  possible  from  the  passage  to  the  cell,  though  of 
course  they  stayed  where  they  could  see  me  walk  back  to 
the  dog-cart.  I  passed  out,  and  then  passed  back  again  to 
the  cell. 

"  Forgotten  something,"  muttered  my  husband,  turning 
carelessly  away,  "  but  at  any  rate  I'm  glad  she  is  going. 
Poor  lass  !  How  bitterly  she  cries  I  AVell,  he  was  lord  of 
the  manor,  you  see,  on  which  she  has  lived  all  her  life. 

"  It  was  as  I  seemed  to  pass  weeping  from  the  cell,  that 
my  husband,  by  a  great  effort,  kept  the  attention  of  the  men 
engrossed  by  describing  and  illustrating  very  elaborately 
the  breaking  of  the  window  through  which  the  murderer 
had  passed  into  Abbotsmoor.  Then,  after  a  few  minutes,  a 
sudden  recollection  struck  him,  and  he  turned  sharply  round. 

"  Of  course  you  are  watching,"  he  said  suspiciously,  to 
one  of  the  men. 

"  Of  course,"  was  the  answer,  though  the  man's  eyes  could 
not  have  done  double  duty.  "I've  seen  her  pass  backwards 
*  id  forwards  two  or  three  times,  but  she  is  back  in  the  cell 
now,  and  you  had  better  go,  for  her  time  is  up." 

"  They  watched  my  husband  pass  into  the  cell,  and  then 
led  me  out,  crying  still.  They  watched  him  help  me  to 
my  seat  in  the  dog-cart,  and  give  me  the  reins,  and  asked 
if  I  feared  to  go  alone.  They  all  spoke  kindly  to  me,  and 
Etood  to  watch  me  drive  away — alone — as  I  had  come. 

"  And  so  the  tale  was  told  next  day,  by  others  who  had 
seen  me.  I  had  driven  away  alone,  as  I  had  come.  How 
were  they  to  know  that  Gabriel  MyJdelton,  dressed  exactly 
as  I  had  been,  lay  in  the  back  of  the  low,  old-fashioned 
vehicle  ?  That  in  that  going  to  and  fro,  between  the  dog* 
jarb  and  the  cell,  there  had  been  one  time  when  mj 
husband's  energies  were  put  to  their  severest  test  while  a 
female  figure  (weeping  bitterly)  had  passed  out  and  slipped 
into  that  waiting  cavity.  Ib  was  just  one  minute  afterwards 
that  my  husband  fetched  me,  and  helped  me  to  my  seat. 

"  I  had  a  fresh  disguise  ip  *  he  dog  cart,  and  in  tliat  Gubrief 


308  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

Myddelton  parted  from  me,  when  I  had  Driven  him  as  fat 
as  I  dared  to  venture  on  the  high  road  to  Liverpool. 

"  Not  until  late  at  night  was  the  prisoner  missed,  and 
then  he  was  safe.  My  husband  knew  a  man  in  Liverpool, 
who  earned  his  livelihood  by  helping  those  who  strove  to 
get  abroad  in  secret,  and  he  had  been  prepared  and  bribed. 
So  we  heard  from  him  of  Gabriel  Myddelton's  departure 
for  America.  Since  then  no  tidings  have  ever  reached  me, 
and  now  I  know  that  they  never  will.  I  feel  that  after  my 
death  it  will  be  too  late  for  this  confesion  to  benefit  any  one, 
yet  I  dare  not  make  it  known  before. 

"  This  is  the  declaration  which  I  have  sworn  to  make,  and 
to  enclose  with  that  which  my  father  has  dictated  to  me  in 
this  his  mortal  illness,  and  which  he  has  charged  me  to 
make  public  when  I  feel  my  own  death  drawing  near.  I 
must,  he  says,  confirm  its  truth  upon  oath,  and  leave  it  with 
a  trusty  person. 

"My  husband  is  dead,  my  father  dying,  my  little  one 
seems  following  them.  What  trusty  person  can  be  near  me 
at  the  end  ?  So  I  have  a  feeling  that  some  day  I  shall 
destroy  these  papers  with  my  own  hand.  But  I  have  written 
the  whole  truth,  as  my  Father  in  Heaven  is  my  witness,  and 
this  is  my  signature. 

"  MARGARET  TERRIT. 

"  Signed  this  fifth  day  of  December,  one  thousand  eight 
hundred  and  sixty-four." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

If  he  has  friends  that  love  him, 
'Twill  set  them  weeping  all. 

The  Nibelungen-Lied. 

FOB  a  few  minutes  after  Royden  had  finished  reading,  he  safe 
like  one  in  a  dream  ;  then  he  slowly  rose,  and  folding  the 
two  papers,  placed  them  carefully  in  the  breast-pocket  of 
tiAti  coat  which  he  had  worn  all  ni^ht  over  his  evening  dreea. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  309 

Tiled  buttoning  it,  to  guard  as  safely  as  he  could  the 
precious  documents,  he  went  softly  into  the  further  room, 
and,  looking  down  for  the  last  time  upon  the  dead  face, 
gave  one  backward  glance  along  the  marred  life  whose 
secrets  had  now  been  disclosed  to  him. 

A  step  in  the  outer  room  aroused  him  ;  gently  laying 
the  sheet  back  over  the  worn,  calm  face,  he  went  oat  to 
meet  the  woman  who  was  now  at  liberty  to  take  his  place. 
A  few  minutes  they  talked  there  ;  and  Royden  waited,  as 
if  his  time  were  of  little  value.  But  when  all  had  been 
said,  and  he  had  left  the  gloomy  house,  he  glanced  up  at 
the  dial  on  St.  Paul's,  and  hailed  a  passing  hansom,  as  if 
his  life  depended  upon  speed 

"  To  the  Great  Western  Station,"  he  said,  in  his  quick, 
clear  tones.  "A  sovereign  if  you  do  it  within  fifteen 
minutes." 

Out  of  the  hubbub  of  the  City,  the  man  took  the  quiet, 
unfrequented  streets  ;  the  horse  sped  on  with  its  inevitably 
unsteady  perseverance,  and  Hoyden  was  in  time  for  the  2'iO 
train  to  Langham  Junction. 

All  through  the  journey,  he  sat  quite  still  in  his  corner  of 
the  carriage,  his  thoughts  intensely  busy,  while  his  heart 
was  full  of  gratitude  and  rejoicing. 

"  To  see  her  face  when  I  show  her  these  ! "  he  murmered 
to  himself ;  "  to  think  of  the  truth  lying  here  at  last  in  my 
hand  ! " 

So  he  was  thinking — picturing  the  brightening  of  one 
pale  face  at  the  tidings  which  he  bore — when  the  train 
stopped  at  Langham  Junction,  and  he  stepped  hastily  down 
upon  the  platform. 

"  Where  for,  sir  ?  " 

"  On  to  Westleigh  by  the  6'30." 

Just  in  his  cool,  natural  tones,  Royden  answered  the  ques- 
••ion  ;  yet,  as  he  did  so,  he  glanced  across  to  where  the 
Westleigh  trains  were  wont  to  start,  with  an  intense 
anxiety. 

"  The  Westleigh  train  left  half  an  hour  ago,  sir  ! " 

Half  an  hour  ago  ! — and  that  was  the  last  !  No  later 
train  stopped  at  the  little  road-side  station,  for  which  at 
any  time  so  few  passengers  were  booked,  save  thosp  For 
Westleigh  Towers.  Royden  Keith  stood  in  hesitation  jusl 

K 


J1C  OLD  MYDDELTON'8  MONET. 

for  two  or  three  seconds.  The  road  from  this  6tation  to 
Westleigh  was  a  long  twenty  miles,  and  the  station — built 
only  for  the  junction  of  the  lines — was  so  far  from  the 
town,  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  get  a  conveyance  of  any 
kind.  True,  it  was  possible  to  reach  The  Towers  more 
readily  by  taking  a  bridle-path,  which  he  had  daringly 
taken  once  before,  even  though  for  several  miles  it  ran  be- 
tween the  sea  and  the  cliffs,  and  was  covered  at  high  water. 
Bnt  then  to  walk  this  distance  was  impossible,  with  the 
tide  upon  the  flow  ;  and  he  had  no  hor  e  here. 

Yet,  how  he  had  dreamed  of  Alice's  glad  reception  of 
nim,  and  her  untold  gratitude  and  joy  at  the  tidings  he 
hi  ire,  the  tidings  he  had  sought  so  long,  and,  having  found 
r.t  last,  had  hastened  to  bring  to  her  himself.  Must  he  give 
up  even  now,  when  he  had  come  so  far,  and  seemed  so  near 
lier  ?  No  ;  not  even  in  such  a  case  as  this  could  Hoyden 
turn  back  from  his  earnest  purpose. 

"  There  is  a  farm,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  stood  recall- 
ing an  old  house  lying  a  mile  or  so  along  the  cliff  way, 
"  where  I  can  get  a  horse.  On  the  huh  road  I  may  have 
to  walk  ten  miles  before  I  can  obtain  one.  I  will  manage 
it,  if  it  is  within  man's  power. 

It  was  within  this  man's  power  ;  and,  an  hour  after  the 
London  train  had  passed  on  iis  way  northward,  Royden 
roda  from  the  old  farm  where  he  had  promptly  bought  a 
horse,  which  its  master  had  never  hoped  to  sell  so  profitr 
ably.  The  animal  was  young  and  strong,  and  fresh  from 
its  stable  ;  and  Royden  had  mounted  with  a  pleasant  sense 
of  its  power  and  will  to  carry  him  fleetly  along  the  dan- 
gerous shore. 

The  master  of  the  farm,  as  well  as  his  old  father,  urged 
Mr.  Keith  not  to  atteu.pt  the  ride.  The  tide  was  treacher- 
ous, they  said,  and  the  distance  across  the  bay  much  greatei 
than  it  seemed.  But  Royden,  shaking  the  men  by  the 
hand  in  his  quiet,  cordial  way,  told  them  he  had  no  fear, 
jnly  a  great  anxiety  to  get  to  Westleigh  Towers  that  night, 
and  mui'h  confidence  in  his  new  horse. 

"  I  know  the  way  well,"  he  added,  in  his  pleasant,  earnest 
voice,  "  and  it  is  a  grand  June  evening." 

The  two  men  stood  watching  him  from  the  farm  crafft. 
He  understood  a  good  horse  when  be  saw  one.  there  was  QO 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  311 

doubt  about  that,  and  they  puessed  at  once  that  he  must  be 
Mr.  Keith.  He  was  just  what  they  had  fancied  the  Squire 
of  Westleigh  Towers. 

"  But,"  said  the  elder  man,  as  they  turned  away  after 
watching  Hoyden  out  of  sight,  "  it  is  a  dangerous  feat  he 
tries  to-night." 

Royden  knew  this  well.  It  was  not  in  ignorance  that 
he  started  on  that  ride.  But  the  horse  he  had  bought  was 
fresh  and  fleer,  and  the  flood-tide  two  hours  distant  yet. 
Sitting  straight  and  firm  in  his  saddle,  his  fingers  tight 
npon  the  rein,  Royden  galloped  along  the  narrow  and  un- 
even path,  while  the  passengers  he  met  looked  after  horse 
and  rider  wonderingly. 

On  and  on,  while  the  sun  slowly  neared  the  water. 
On  and  on,  until  it  set,  and  Royden  breathed  a  sigh  of 
relief,  for  the  path  had  reached  the  shore  at  last.  He  paused 
one  moment,  and  gave  a  look  around  him — first  over  the 
fading  sea  ;  then  up  the  dark,  precipitous  cliffs  ;  then 
higher  still,  beyond  the  fading  sunset  streaks.  When  that 
moment's  pause  was  over,  leaning  forward  in  his  saddle,  he 
pressed  his  knees  against  his  horse's  flanks,  and  dashed 
along  that  treacherous  road  beside  the  sea. 

Once  or  twice  the  young  horse  faltered  in  his  pace,  and 
once  or  twice  he  slipped,  and  would  have  fallen  but  for  the 
strong,  restraining  hand  upon  the  rein  ;  but  still  he  made 
his  way  bravely  under  the  frowning  rocks. 

"  On,  good  fellow,  on  ! " 

Now  with  caresses,  now  with  strokes,  did  Royden  urge 
him,  while  the  tide  rose  and  rose.  That  bay  was  reached 
at  last  of  whose  danger,  at  the  flowing  of  the  tide,  he  had 
told  Lady  Somerson  and  Honor,  as  they  stood  at  that  win- 
dow looking  down  upon  the  spot.  Ah,  it  was  so  near 
home  !  It  almost  felt  like  having  reached  home,  to  have 
reached  this  well-known  spot,  on  which  the  windows  of  The 
Towers  looked.  But  it  was  two  miles  across  the  bay,  and 
Jhe  tide  was  rising,  and  a  mist  gliding  northward  from  the 
eea,  and  slowly  shrouding  horse  and  rider  in  its  chilling, 
darkening  embrace. 

But  for  an  instant,  just  before  it  reached  them,  Royden 
strained  his  eyes  to  see  the  further  limits  of  the  bfiy,  and— 
Rli  !  yes,  the  waters  lay  seething  there,  falling  back  a  little, 


312  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

and  glistening  for  a  moment,  then  darkly  lifting  themselves 
in  their  power,  and  swaying  broad  and  deep  across  the  only 
way  which  lay  before  this  solitary  horseman. 

Royden's  hand  fell  gently  on  the  horse's  foaming  neck, 
and  for  a  moment  his  eyes  fell  too,  resting  from  that  gaze 
which  had  pierced  the  gathering  darkness. 

"  There  is  no  passage  before  us.  If  we  can  find  no 
possible  way  inland,  this  hour  means  death  for  you  and  me 
— poor  fellow  !  " 

Urging  him  on,  now  by  cheering  words,  and  now  by 
lharp,  swift  cuts,  Royden  rode  to  and  fro  within  the  arms  of 
the  bay,  searching  among  the  rocks  for  a  possible  way  of 
euress  ;  but  the  cliffs  rose  precipitous  from  the  beach,  and 
Royden  saw  that  any  hope  of  passing  them  was  vain,  while 
the  sound  of  the  waters,  nearing  the  horse's  hurrying  feet, 
grew  literally  deafening  in  its  horrible  portent. 

Brave  and  strenuous  efforts  did  the  young  horse  make,  as 
Royden  led  him  backwards  and  forwards,  in  this  vain  and 
futile  search  ;  but  the  pace  grew  slower — into  a  walk  at 
last,  while  the  tide  rose  and  rose.  So  swiftly  the  enters 
rushed  in  at  last,  sweeping  over  that  wide  crescent,  hidd<  n 
in  the  mist,  that  in  one  second,  as  it  seemed,  horse  and  rider 
stood  surrounded  in  the  flood-tide. 

Then  the  frightened  animal  started  wildly  on  his  own 
career,  galloping  backwards  and  forwards,  to  left,  and  right, 
without  aid  or  motive  ;  racing  to  and  fro  in  the  very  mad- 
ness of  his  panic,  as  he  tried  to  escape  the  grasp  of  the 
hungry  waters  ;  racing  to  and  fro  until  at  last,  quite 
suddenly,  he  stopped  in  his  wild  gallop,  stood  trembling  for 
a  moment,  with  his  eyes  wild  and  strained,  whi!e  the  waves 
broke  under  his  raised  head,  then,  with  a  cry  that  was 
almost  human  in  its  anguish,  he  threw  his  head  back,  and 
Royden  knew  that  he  alone  lived  in  that  rush  of  rising 
waters,  and  that  his  only  chance  of  safety  was  to  cling  to 
his  dead  companion. 

At  first  the  effort  to  keep  his  seat  engrossed  all  his 
«nergies,  but  gradually  that  tension  relaxed,  while  now  he 
held  one  hand  upon  the  breast  of  his  coat,  guarding  that 
lately-won  paper  in  its  grip.  Dreamily,  with  a  consciousness 
of  utter  helplessness  which  was  almost  a  relief  after  hia 
"estlesB,  feverish  exertion,  he  flouted  on  the  surface  of  tut 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  813 

ride  ;  recalling  brokenly,  as  one  sometimes  recalls  a  dream, 
how  one  man,  years  ago,  carrying  an  infant  in  his  anus,  had 
been  drowned  within  this  bay  ;  languidly  wondering  over 
the  exact  spot,  and  morbidly  trying  to  imagine  the  scene. 
Then,  there  came  into  his  mind — still  softly  and  vaguely — 
the  story  of  a  wreck  upon  this  coast,  and,  looking  out  to 
sea  he  tried  to  guess  the  spot  where  the  ship  had  foundered, 
and  wished  that  he  could  float  far  out  to  sea,  and  fall  just 
there. 

One  minute  he  was  piercing  the  misty  darkness  with  his 
eyes,  and  calculating  how  long  it  migh  be  possible  for  him 
to  live,  and  in  the  next  he  bent  his  head  against  the  beating 
spray,  with  a  faint  smile  upon  his  lips,  and  dipping  his  hand 
into  the  water,  laid  it  upon  his  burning  brow  and  lips.  But^ 
through  all,  his  fingers  never  once  relaxed  in  their  close 
clasp  upon  those  papers  he  had  borne  so  far  in.  safefy — so 
far! 

Just  before  the  dawn  of  the  Jane  morning  a  group  of 
fishermen  slowly  passed  along  the  silent,  dewy  park  to  the 
locked  door  of  Westleigh  Towers.  They  were  men  to  whom 
this  beautiful  park  had  been  lent  as  holiday  ground  ;  they 
were  men  who  had  learned  to  love  the  master  who  ha  i 
treated  them  as  brothers,  and  not  serfs  ;  and  so  no  cheek 
was  dry  when  they  trod  noiselessly  under  the  whispering 
leaves,  bearing  him  among  them,  still  with  his  fingers  tightly 
closed  upon  the  paper  he  had  borne  so  far. 

Gently  and  regretfully  these  men  disturbed  the  sleeping 
household,  and,  with  hands  that  were  delicate  then,  if  they 
had  never  been  so  before,  they  laid  him  in  one  of  his  own 
beautiful  rooms.  And  when  a  girlish  figure  crept  in  and 
stood  beside  him,  appealing  mutely  and  tearfully  for  tidings, 
they  whispered,  in  hushed  and  broken  tones,  that,  sailing 
past  the  bay  as  the  tide  went  down,  they  had  found  him 
there  upon  his  dead  horse,  benumbed  and  motionless,  as  he 
miifit  have  floated  for  three  hours  at  least. 

Benumbed  and  motionless  !  These  were  the  words  the 
men  chose,  because  they  saw  the  fear  and  horror  in  the  pale 
face  they  gazed  upon.  But  Alice  knew  what  they  left 
unsaid,  and  when  she  bent  above  the  prostrate  form,  seeking 
in  vain  for  some  faint  sign  of  life,  a  cry  of  terrible  despair 
escaped  her  parted  lips. 


814  OLD  MYDDEJ.TON'S  MONET. 

White  and  still  the  brave  face  lay  ;  nerveless  and  power- 
less  was  the  strong,  tall  form  :  yet  still  the  wet  stiff  fingere 
of  the  right  hand  held  their  firm  grip  upon  that  packet 
Bafely  borne  through  all. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
Kothing  can  sympathize  with  Foscari. 


Braoir. 


THREE  weeks  had  passed  since  Hoyden  Keith  rose  from  that 
long  and  death-like  swoon,  and,  neglecting  his  sore  need  of 
rest,  returned  to  London,  only  two  days  after  he  had  been 
brought  home  unconscious.  But  the  tasks  which  hud 
taken  him  to  town  were  all  completed  now,  and  he  had  come 
home  to  wait.  For  three  weeks  he  had  fought  with  his 
terrible  suffering  and  weariness,  when  one  day  the  slow 
afternoon  train,  passing  through  Westleigh,  deposited  at 
that  sleepy  little  station  two  passengers,  who  had  a  more 
engrossed  and  business-like  air  than  the  generality  of  people 
who  halted  at  that  rural  spot.  They  gave  their  tickets  to 
the  solitary  porter  without  a  glance  towards  him,  and  they 
walked  from  the  station  together  without  a  glance  beyond 
the  few  yards  of  dusty  lane  which  lay  before  them.  One  was 
a  man  of  middle  age,  broadly  built  and  well-dressed,  but 
having  the  air  of  one  who  did  not  too  fully  comprehend  th» 
aim  he  had  in  view,  or  the  way  in  which  that  aim  should  bt 
pursued.  The  other  was  a  small  and  wiry  person,  with 
ginger-coloured  hair  and  complexion,  and  he  decidedly  did 
possess  the  air  of  knowing  whither  he  was  bound,  and  on 
what  mission  he  was  bent. 

"  Is  it  far  along  this  baking  lane  ?"  inquired  the  elder 
man,  without  glancing  into  his  companion's  face. 

"  Only  a  brisk  ten  minutes'  walk,"  rejoined  Mr.  Slimp, 
rubbing  his  short  hands  together,  as  if  in  the  enjoyment  of 
a  private  joke ;  "  and  if  it  took  us  ten  hours,  instead  of 
minutes,  the  fatigne  would  be  repaid  us  with  interest." 

"  If  ii  is  not,"  replied  Lawrence   Uaughton,  "  our  walk 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  815 

back  cannot  be  too  long,  if  that  happens  to  be  what  yo?j 
mean." 

Bickerton  Slimp  smiled  affably.  Perhaps  this  was  to  b« 
considered  as  a  smart  repartee  of  his  employer's. 

"  This  preliminary  stroke  will  be  over  in  a  couple  of  hours 
now,"  he  observed,  adopting  an  impressive  decision  in  hi? 
shiirp,  weak  tones. 

No  reply  from  the  lawyer,  and  the  clerk  continued,  with 
a  still  more  evident  assumption  of  assurance — 

"The  fact  is  the  man  has  not  a  leg  to  stand  on." 

"  I  don't  know,"  put  in  Mr  Haughton,  with  gloomy  stiff- 
ness ;  "  I  would  not,  even  now,  take  too  much  for  granted  ; 
and  if  this  last  move  does  not  answer  " 

"Not  answer !  "exclaimed  Bickerton  Slimp,  coming  to  adead 
halt  in  his  walk,  "  how  can  it  help  answering  ?  What  can 
prevent  its  answering  now  ?  And  the  sum  he  will  give  us  to 
V««p  silence  will  set  us  going  again  more  prosperously  than 
ever  ;  after  that  I'll  engage  that  the  firm  shall  become  the 
richest  and  the  sharpest  in  the  county." 

"  If  he  does  not  offer  us  this  bribe,"  said  Lawrence,  with 
no  appearance  of  being  carried  away  by  Mr.  Slimp's  enthu- 
siastic anticipations,  "the  practice — and  something  else 
with  it  too — cannot  be  saved,  as  you  know." 

"Of  course  I  know."  assented  Bickerton,  with  a  chuckle, 
"  but  there  happens  to  be  very  little  substance  in  that  '  but.' 
You  seem  unusually  and  rather  uncharacteristically  tiinid 
to-day,  sir  ;  an  unfortunate  mood  to  have  happened  to  fall 
into  just  now,  when  we  want  all  onr  sharpest  wits  about  us. 
Mr.  Keith  is  no  idiot,  and  even  with  truth  and  justice  on 
our  side,  we  must  look  sharp  to  intimidate  him." 

The  two  men  walked  on  in  silence  now,  and  to  judge  by 
the  expression  of  one,  the  truth  and  justice  which  had 
ranged  themselves  on  his  side  were  not  animating  or 
encouraging  companions. 

"  Here  we  are,"  cried  Mr.  Slimp  at  last,  in  an  airy  tone  of 
stimulation  ;  "  this  is  oar  gate.  Now,  Mr.  Haughton,  don't 
yon  go  and  look  down  in  the  month,  or  our  game  will  sutfer, 
and  our  practice  be  nowhere.  Depend  upon  me.  I  shall 
fook  you  up,  and  when  yon  are  at  a  loss,  you  must  just  leave 
ti/i-  iirtla  aifair  in  my  hands." 

The  insolent  familiarity  of  the  confidential  clerk  was  bj 


S16  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

no  means  tasteful  to  the  stern  and  concentrated  nature  of 
fhe  master,  yet  some  consciousness  of  the  man's  power  over 
him  kept  all  reproof  from  Lawrence  Haughton's  lips.  So 
he  walked  up  the  park  in  silence,  Mr.  Slimp  acting  as  guide, 
and  showing  a  very  suspicious  knowledge  of  the  place. 

With  an  air  of  bustling  complacency,  he  advanced  to  the 
preat  arched  door  of  The  Towers,  and  pulled  the  heavy  iron 
bell  which  hung  beside  it,  while  Mr.  Haughton  followed, 
not  by  any  means  so  thoroughly  at  his  ease. 

"  Mr.  Keith,"  demanded  Bickerton,  impressively,  and  the 
door  was  opened  wide  upon  the  visitors  ;  but  the  man  who 
nshertd  them  in  wondered  a  good  deal  what  acquaintances 
of  the  master's  would  come  in  this  curt  manner,  without 
prefacing  the  name,  or  expressing  the  wish  to  see  him  ;  and 
he  confided  this  wonder  to  Mr.  Pierce,  by  whom  he  passed 
on  the  message. 

So  the  valet  appeared  alone  at  the  door  of  the  room  in 
which  the  lawyer  and  his  clerk  waited. 

His  master  was  not  well,  he  said,  and  would  rather  not  be 
disturbed,  unless  his  presence  was  very  particularly  desired. 

Lawrence  Haughton,  seeing  that  the  man  had  taken  this 
course  upon  himself,  answered,  with  angry  sternness,  that 
his  master's  presence  was  very  particularly  desired,  and  that 
as  his  own  time  \»as  valuable,  he  should  be  glad  to  have  his 
message  delivered  with  promptness. 

Pierce  retired  without  further  words,  and  Lawrence 
Haughton  looked  curiously  around  the  beautiful  room. 

"Yes,"  he  thought,  with  a  feeling  of  self-gratulation 
almost  equal  to  that  in  which  Mr.  Slimp  was  at  that  momen* 
indulging,  "yes,  he  can  afford  to  pay  well." 

When  at  last  Mr.  Keith  entered  the  room,  the  self-gratu- 
lation even  of  Mr.  Bickerton  Slimp  was  turned  for  a  minute 
into  another  channel.  This  man,  who  had  horse-whipped 
him  on  one  never-to-be-forgotten  occasion,  and  who  had  often 
goaded  him  to  the  very  verge  of  madness  by  his  haughty, 
unassailable  scorn  and  rather  amused,  but  always  evident, 
contempt,  was  ill,  and  had  been  ill.  He  came  slowly  and 
wearily  into  the  room,  and,  leaning  against  the  chimney- 
piece — not  from  habit,  but  in  real  need  of  the  support — he 
turned  to  them  a  face  which  betrayed  intense  physical 
Buffering. 


MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  817 

There  was  much  satisfaction  to  Mr.  Slimp  in  that,  for  the 
consciousness  had  not  yet  forced  itself  upon  him  that  the 
face  betrayed  just  the  old  courage,  and  the  strength  which 
was  so  firmly  built  upon  great  patience. 

Lawrence  Haughton  made  an  effort  to  plunge  at  once 
into  his  errand,  but  the  course  was  too  thoroughly  at  vari- 
ance with  his  professional  habits  to  allow  him  to  do  so.  In 
his  own  way,  therefore,  the  words  curt  and  strong,  the 
manner  stiff  and  elaborate,  he  apprised  Hoyden  Keith,  there 
upon  his  own  hearth,  that  he,  Mr.  Lawrence  Haughton, 
solicitor  of  Kinbury,  possessed  of  all  needful  information  in 
the  case,  was  then  on  his  way  to  inform  his  Government 
that  Gabriel  Myddelton,  the  criminal  condemned  eleven 
years  ago  to  the  gallows  for  the  murder  of  his  uncle,  Mr. 
Myddelton,  of  Abbotsmoor,  bad  been  tracked,  through  all 
disguises  and  false  pretences,  by  himself  and  his  confidential 
clerk,  and  was  then  in  custody  of  the  police  at  Westleigh 
Towers. 

"  Here  !  Have  you  the  police  here  ?"  inquired  Boyden. 
looking  round  him. 

"  They  will  be  here  in  two  hours'  time,  or  less  ;  at  any 
rate,  they  will  be  here  before  we  shall  choose  to  leave,"  said 
the  lawyer ;  adding,  after  a  pause,  as  if  the  idea  had  just 
struck  him, — "unless  we  are  able  to  save  you  from  this 
public  degradation." 

He  repeated  the  offer  presently,  roore  boldly  and  unmis- 
takably, tacking  to  it  an  impressive  reiteration  of  the 
threat.  His  courage  was  evidently  equal  to  the  occasion, 
and  Mr.  Slimp  (his  mind  at  ease  now  on  that  score)  felt 
that  he  might  stand  aside  and  enjoy  the  scene.  He  had  no 
fear  for  the  success  of  their  plan,  for  was  not  Gabriel  Myd 
delton  standing  there  in  the  utter  silence  of  dejection,  con- 
sequent on  defeat  ?  And  was  he  not  incapable  of  raising 
his  eyes,  either  in  surprise  or  contradiction  ? 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  say  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Haughton, 
impatient  now  for  his  crowning  success. 

"Nothing,"  rejoined  Hoyden,  still  without  looking  np. 

"  You  understand  my  present  plans  ? — at  once  to  make 
public  your  crime  and  duplicity,  in  a  quarter  from  which 
there  can  be  no  appeal." 
"  I  understand." 


818  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

"  And,"  continued  Lawrence,  his  voice  raised  more  and 
more  eagerly,  "  to  have  you  taken  into  custody  at  once." 

"  I  shall  not  attempt  to  turn  you  from  your  plan.  I  toV 
fou  once  before,  if  you  recollect,  that  I  was  willing  yo| 
should  pursue  it  to  the  end,  if  you  thought  it  prudent  on 
ycur  own  part." 

"  Then,  in  little  more  than  an  hour's  time  you  will  be  in 
custody,"  cried  Lawrence,  unable  to  hide  his  gathering 
passion  of  disappointment  ;  "  and,  by  this  time  to-morrow, 
your-  identity  with  the  condemned  murderer  (who  was,  only 
by  a  woman's  craft,  saved  from  hanging)  will  be  a  house- 
hold word  all  over  England — in  every  home  in  which, 
under  the  cunning  mask  of  your  wealth  and  your  new  name, 
you  have  obtained  a  footing.  But,"  continued  Lawrence, 
with  the  crafty  assumption  of  friendliness  which  sat  so  ill 
upon  him,  "I  am  willing  to  listen,  if  it  strikes  you  that 

this  fatal  publicity  could  be  in  any  way  avoided  " •  He 

hesitated,  trusting  that  the  conclusion  of  the  speech  might 
be  anticipated  for  him  ;  but  he  waited  in  vain.  "  If  not," 
he  exclaimed,  savagely,  "  I  shall  let  the  law  take  its 
course.  If  not,"  he  repeated,  emphatically,  as  if  to  oblige  a 
reply. 

"  Is  it  by  your  wish,  Mr.  Haughton,"  inquired  Hoyden, 
with  a  brief  glance  towards  the  fidgetty  figure  of  Mr. 
Bickerton  Slimp,  "  that  your  clerk  is  present  at  this  inter- 
view ?  " 

"  I  have  assisted  and  advised  Mr.  Haughton  throughout," 
wtruck  in  the  embryo  partner  in  the  luture  firm,  with  » 
rather  abortive  attempt  at  easy  self-possession,  "  and  I  wish 
to  see  him  through  it." 

"  You  shall  have  that  pleasure,  then,  with  my  hearty 
consent.  I  only  desired  Mr.  Haughton  to  understand  that 
it  is  not  by  my  wish  that  you  are  made  cognizant  of  the 
private  affairs  of  his  own  family.  You  have,  as  I  am  fully 
aware,  been  for  a  long  time  engaged,  both  for  him  and  with 
him,  in  this  search,  and  I  am  quite  willing  that  you  should 
be  present  at  its  conclusion  ;  after  that,  I  shall  thank  you 
to  leave  this  house  at  once,  and  to  bear  in  mind  that,  if  you 
attempt  a  second  ingress,  I  shall  have  you  dismissed — by 
the  shoulders." 

A  pause  then,  and  Lawrence,  in  a  sudden  access  of  imp* 


OI  D  MYDBEI/rON'S  MONEY.  319 

tience,  reiterated  his  old  threat,  again  insinuating  the  one 
chance,  from  his  own  generosity  and  compassion,  which 
remained  for  his  victim. 

Royden  broke  the  ominous  pause  which  followed,  speak- 
mg  in  quiet,  weary  scorn. 

"  You  intend,  you  say,  to  make  public  your  conviction 
that  you  have  discovered  Gabriel  Myddelton,  the  murderer 
of  the  Squire  of  Abbotsmoor  ?  Let  me  save  you  from  the 
unpleasant  ridicule  which  you  would  incur  by  so  doing.  I 
have  read  the  document  which  proves  that  young  Gabriel 
Myddelton  was  innocent  of  the  crime  for  which,  eleven 
years  ago,  he  was  tried  and  condemned." 

"  The — the — devil  !  "  panted  Lawrence  Haughton,  in 
uncurbed  passion.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  and  read,"  repeated  Royden,  calmly,  "  the 
confession  of  the  real  murderer — one  Benjamin  Terrir., 
miner,  of  Abbotsmoor — confirmed  by  affidavit,  that  the 
document  is  true  upon  oath." 

"  Where  is  the  forgery  ?  "  cried  Lawrence,  his  face  con- 
Tulsed  with  wrath.  "  Where  is  this  perjured  scoundrel  and 
his  lying  document  ?  " 

"  The  document,"  returned  Royden,  too  weary  or  too  ill 
to  be  roused  to  either  passion  or  amusement,  "  with  a  com- 
plete history  of  the  case — verbatim  el  literatim — drawn  up 
by  a  famous  solicitor,  nas  been  placed  in  the  hands  of  the 
Government,  together  with  a  petition  to  the  Home  Secre- 
tary." Royden  paused  here,  though  only  because  his 
breath  was  short  and  hurried  ;  but  in  that  pause  Lawrence 
Haughton  felt  the  ground  give  way  under  his  one  spot  ot 
safety.  "  Before  this  time,"  continued  Royden,  glancing 
from  the  lawyer  to  his  clerk,  "  the  Home  Secretary  has  com- 
municated with  the  judge — I  felt  that  to  be  necessary, 
because  judgment  had  been  formally  recorded  against 
Gabriel  Myddelton  on  evidence  and  the  decision  of  a  jury — 
which  judgment  is  now,  of  course,  respited- — I  hope  you 
follow  me — and  Gabriel  My ddelton's  innocence  is  established, 
legiiliy  and  technically." 

"  These  papers,"  shouted  Lawrence,  his  passion  entirely 
overmastering  him,  "  are  foul  and  lying  forgeries  !  " 

"  On  the  contrary,"  put  in  Royden,  his  quiet  tones  broken 
ft  little  by  evident  suffering,  "these  pf?ij°V8,  which  prove 


380  OLD  MYUDELTON'S  Momsr. 

the  innocence  of  Gabriel  Myddeltou,  have  been  endorsed 
by  the  Home  Secretary,  and  now  lie  at  the  Home  Office,  at 
your  call,  Mr.  Haughton,  or  at  the  call  of  anyone  who 
desires  to  witness  the  issue  of  this  long-contested  matter." 

A  pause  again,  while  Mr.  Haughton  and  his  clerk 
struggled  with  many  varied  and  uncomfortable  emotions, 
among  which  was  pre-eminent  a  very  natural  wish  that  they 
were  at  that  moment  beyond  the  park  gates  of  Westleigh 
Towers. 

"  I  will  look  into  this,"  cried  the  lawyer,  presently  ;  "  I 
will  soon  lay  bare  this  vile  fraud." 

"  Thus,  as  I  said,"  continued  Royden,  as  if  he  had  heard 
no  interruption,  "  Gabriel  MydJelton's  innocence  is  legally 
established  with  his  Government.  As  for  his  friends — if  he 
has  any — they  must  maintain  what  opinions  they  choose. 
But  you  understand  that  the  papers  are  at  their  call,  too.  I 
have  given  you  all  particulars  I  choose  to  give.  Now 
complete  your  long-cherished  plan,  if  you  think  it  well,  Mr. 
Haughton." 

"  I  am  not  easily  hoodwinked,"  remarked  Lawrence, 
Bnppressing  his  passion  by  an  immense  effort,  as  he  moved 
towards  the  door,  "  and  I  will  disclose  this  knavery." 

Royden's  eyes,  with  something  of  their  old  quizzical 
glance,  were  fixed  upon  the  uncomfortable  figure  of  the 
little  clerk,  and  he  did  not  seem  to  even  hear  Mr.  Haughton's 
threat. 

When  his  guests  had  left,  he  rose  slowly  from  his  leaning 
posture,  a  smile  crossing  his  lips  as  he  pictured  the  very 
comical  position  in  which  Mr.  Haughton  would  have  been 
placed  if  there  had  chanced  to  be  a  grain  of  truth  in  hia 
assertion  that  the  police  would  follow  him. 

In  the  meantime,  without  uttering  one  word  to  eacTi 
other,  the  baffled  lawyer  and  his  clerk  returned  to  Kiu- 
bury  ;  after  which  Mr.  Slimp  was  despatched  to  the  Home 
Office,  and  Mr.  Haughton  went  through  his  books  for  the 
twentieth  time,  reading  on  every  page  the  one  word— 
ruin! 

Striving  against  his  growing  weariness,  yet  as  composedly 
as  if  he  had  been  alone  all  the  afternoon,  Royden  went  out 
to  meet  the  carriage  when  he  heard  the  sound  of  wheels. 
With  a  smile  of  greeting,  he  helped  the  two  ladies  to 


or/.)  MYDDELTON'S  MOJSEY.  321 

alight,  and  the  younger  one  stood  at  his  side  until  they  were 
alone. 

"  Oh,  Roy,"  she  whispered  then,  "  you  are  not  getting 
better,  you  are  weaker  and  weaker  every  day,  and  I  can  Bee 
how  dreadfully  you  suffer.  It  is  all  because  you  fought  so 
hard  against  this  illness  just  at  first,  when  you  felt  you 
had  so  much  to  do  ;  and  this  was  as  much  for  my  sake 
as" 

He  stopped  her  with  a  touch  of  his  fingers  upon  her  lips, 
and  a  pleasant  smile  of  dissent,  but  by  no  words  ;  and  she 
went  slowly  up  the  stairs  and  told  her  sorrow,  as  she  always 
did,  to  the  old  lady  who  awaited  her. 

"  He  is  so  kind,"  she  sighed,  losing  suddenly  the  look  of 
pleasure  which  had  brightened  her  pale  face  a  few  minutes 
ago,  and  which  would  brighten  it  again  when  her  thoughts 
should  go  back  to  her  one  engrossing  memory  of  those 
papers  now  tying  in  a  place  of  safety  which  she  only  vaguely 
knew  as  a  depository  lor  those  precious  deeds,  "  so  thought- 
ful for  every  one,  so  full  of  helpful,  generous  projects  ;  and 
yet  there  is  this  strange  solitariness  about  him  ever — a 
solitariness  which  it  seems  as  if  no  one  could  ever  pierce." 

"  Wait,  Alice — wait  and  see,  my  dear." 

For  this  doubting  thought,  though  a  sad  one,  was  a 
familiar  one  with  the  elder  lady,  and  one  which  she  could 
only  bear  to  muse  upon  in  silence. 

What  was  the  one  thing  which  he  lacked  in  his  noble, 
useful  life  ?  Could  no  one  ever  make  his  lot  as  bright  aa 
he  ever  strove  to  make  the  lot  of  others  ? 

"  But  while  I  wait,"  sobbed  Alice,  "  he  is  ill,  and  it  may 
ouuxe  too 


OLD  JiYDDSLTON'B 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

I  know  not  how  it  is, 
But  a  foreboding  presses  on  my  heart 
At  times,  until  I  sicken.     I  have  heard, 
And  Irom  men  learned,  that  before  the  touch 
(The  common,  coarser  touch)  of  good  or  ill, 
That  oftentimes  a  subtler  sense  informs 
Some  spirits  of  the  approach  of  "  things  to  be." 

PEOCTOK. 

THREE  weeks  had  passed  since  Sir  Philip  Somerson  had 
brought  Honor  the  tidings  that  Koyden  Keith  had  gone 
home  to  Westleigh  Towers  on  the  day  after  her  ball,  and 
was  confined  there  by  ill  health.  Sir  Philip  and  Lady 
Somerson  were  now  abroad,  and  Honor  had  heard  nothing 
more.  The  time  was  drawing  near  for  the  closing 
of  the  mansion  in  Kensington,  and  the  adjournment  of  its 
young  mistress  to  Abbotsmoor.  But  who  could  foresee  what 
lay  between  that  day  and  this  July  afternoon,  when  Honor 
Craven,  as  she  sat  reading  to  Marie,  was  astonished  by 
receiving  the  card  of  Mr.  Bickerton  Slimp,  on  which  was 
penned  a  request  to  see  her  on  most  important  private 
business. 

She  acceded  to  this  request  without  hesitation,  for, 
thoroughly  as  she  disliked  him,  she  could  not  forget  that  he 
belonged  indirectly  to  her  old  home  and  her  old  life. 

When  she  entered  the  library,  where  Mr.  Slimp  awaited 
her,  she  found  him  very  much  changed  from  the  sleek  and 
fawning  little  sycophant  he  had  always  shown  himself  to  her. 
He  stood  humble  and  isolated  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  ins 
clothes  worn  and  dusty,  the  one  word  "failure"  stamped 
legibly  upon  his  person  and  manner. 

Honor  sat  down,  and  waited  for  him  to  speak.  It  was 
not  long  before  he  did  so.  theueh  he  was  long  in  finishing 
ivhat  he  had  to  say.  Without  any  introduction,  though 
With  tiresome  circumlocution,  he  informed  Miss  Craven 
that  he  had  felt  it  his  painful  duty  to  come  and  lay  before 
her  a  few  particulars  respecting  the  affairs  of  Mr.  Haugh- 
ton,  as  she  was,  unfortunately,  one  among  many  whom  ho 
had  defrauded;  and  his  (Mr.  Slimp's)  conscience  would  not 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  328 

allow  him  to  rest  until  he  had  striven  to  make  np,  in  some 
measure,  for  faults  in  which  he  (as  Mr.  Haughton's  clerk) 
been  indirectly — though  most  innocently — concerned, 
t  would  appear  that  Mr.  Slimp's  conscience  rather 
eagerly  sought  rest ;  for,  without  a  pause,  he  diverged  from 
every  point  obtainable  from  this  centre,  and  rang  a  hundred 
changes  ou  the  frauds  his  late  employer  had  practised,  not 
only  upon  her  and  upon  the  public,  but  (in  a  still  greater 
and  more  inexcusable  degree)  upon  his  ex-clerk  himself — 
gui'eless  and  unsuspecting. 

Honor  listened  in  silence — it  was  hardly  worth  while  to 
Interrupt  him — and  he  went  glibly  on  ;  making  himself 
plainly  understood,  though,  in  his  splenetic  excitement,  h« 
made  use  of  one  or  two  expressions  which  were  as  Greek  to 
Honor. 

Above  all  facts,  this  one  was  urged  and  resented  most. 
Mr.  Haughton  had  made  a  promise  to  his  head-clerk  that 
at  this  present  date  he  would  take  him  into  partnership,  and 
now  he  had  backed  out  of  the  agreement  ;  and  the  morti- 
fied ex-clerk,  having  discovered  that  the  practice  of 
Haughton,  Solicitor,  could  not  stand,  had  determined  to 
take  a  special  revenge  for  the  two-fold  duplicity. 

Mr.  Haughton  was  now  hiding  from  his  creditors,  and 
Mr.  Slimp  happened  to  know  his  present  concealment,  and 
was  willing  to  betray  it  to  Miss  Craven — for  a  consideration. 
It  was  then,  and  not  till  then,  that  Honor  allowed  him  to 
see  a  little  of  the  scorn  his  words  and  conduct  had  merited; 
but  Bickerton  was  far  too  deeply  bent  upon  his  own  aim 
to  let  this  interrupt  his  flow  of  pleasant  confidence. 

"  Even  if  you  decline'  to  remunerate  me  for  this  useful 
information,  Miss  Craven,"  he  said,  insinuatingly,  "  I  shall 
itil".  tell  you.  He  has  done  worse  than  that  to  spite  me,  and 
my  turn  has  come  now.  He  has  done  worse  than  this  to 
hundreds  of  people.  If  it  had  been  only  me  he  had  injured, 
I  would  have  been  silent,  but  it  is  hundreds  more,  and  so 
jay  duty  is  to  bring  him  to  justice." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  any  of  this,"  said  Honor,  in- 
differently, as  it  seemed,  "it  has  no  effect  upon  me  at  all." 

But  still  she  sat  quietly  to  listen,  and  Bickerton  Slimp 
could  not  read  the  agonising  effort  it  cost  her  to  hear,  and 
— above  all — to  discredit  what  he  said  of  her  old  u 


324  OLD  MYPDELTON'S  MONET. 

«  Even  if  I  did  not  betray  his  hiding  place,"  resumed 
Mr  Haughton's  would-be  partner,  «  it  would  soon  be  die 
Covered,  Ld  he'd  be  hunted  out.   .He  isn't  used  to  making 
himself  scarce  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  taking  different 
characters  on  different  emergencies  as  some  are.     1  ^nere  11 
be  plenty  after  him,  too-mad  as  blood-hounds  when  they 
know  ..hat  he's  done.    No,  there's  no  doubt  about  his  soon 
being  taken,  but  I  thought  it  right  to  warn  you  n/f  >  Ml 
Craven,  because  if  you  wish  your  old  guardian  1<  *  o  ff  it 
will  be  easy  work  for  you  ;  and  at  the  same  time,  if  yo 
Think  justice  ought  to  be  dealt  him,  you  have  only  to  say 
the  word  and  make  it  worth  my  while.      [  always  was 

wi^V"^^ 

glance  from  Honor  had  beea  more  than  sufficient  to  reread 
him  on  what  dangerous  ground  he  trod. 

"No;  there's  no  doubt  he  will  soon  be  taken  Miss 
Sraven  by  one  or  other  of  the  victims  of  his  fraudulent 
schemes,"  he  resumed,  more  placidly,  ''ana  they  are  many 
I  could  not  enumerate,  if  I  tried,  the  deceits  which  he  has 
practised.  Many  families,  whose  names  even  you  L  could  ^re- 
member, Miss  Craven,  are  involved  in  rum  by  him,  though 
STey  do  not  know  it  yet.  He  has  embezzled  money  he  had 

to  invest,  and  taken  people  in  £!*«SS*SRiJS  ^ 
a-aiTi  and  again  suppressed  certain  deeds,  and  ettecte 
sale  of  property  previously  mortgaged.  More  ttian  one  poor 
dupe  has  let  him  have  every  pound  she  possessed,  to  invest 
or  place  on  mortgage,  and  the  deeds  have  represented 
nothing  b™  forgeriel  One  poor  widow  thinks  she  has 
bounht  throu-h  him,  the  house  she  lives  in,  while  it  really 
Songs  t  wealthy  builder  in  Kinbury  for  Mr-  Haughton 
suppressed  one  set  of  deeds  and  supplied  another.  He  has 
overdrawn  his  banking  account,  and  borrowed  money  which 
s  due  No,  there  can  be  no  help  for  him,  although  his 


and  the 


ou  Ms  Craven,  that  he  is  hiding  now  at  the  '  Anchorite,' 
L  Thames  Street,  and  if  you  have  any  wish  yourself  to  be 

with  anger 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  32* 

"  Yon  forget  to  whom  you  are  speaking,"  she  said,  her 
tones  as  quiet  as  usual,  though  her  manner  was  unmia- 
takable. 

Mr.  Slimp  made  an  effort  to  regain  the  ground  he  had 
lost  by  this  one  too  daring  step.  Cunningly,  long  ago,  he 
had  discovered  both  the  one  passion  of  his  master's  life  and 
the  indifference  with  which  it  had  been  treated  by  his  ward  ; 
and,  judging  by  his  own  contemptible  feelings,  he  had 
imagined  that  Honor  might  rejoice  over  an  6pportunity  of 
repaying  her  old  guardian  for  the  persecution  she  had 
suffered  at  his  hands.  But  this  feeling  could  only  last  one 
minute,  and  he  knew  that  it  had  been  injurious  to  his  cause. 
Still  he  could  regain  his  ground,  he  fancied  :  and  it  was  an 
unctuous  satisfaction  to  him  to  lengthen  his  confidence 
against  his  erstwhile  master.  There  was,  too,  the  novrlty 
of  truth  in  so  many  of  these  cheering  disclosures  of  fraud 
and  duplicity.  But  he  hurried  now  over  the  information, 
as  if  he  feared  its  being  still  more  summarily  cut  short.  He 
might  well  fear.  Honor  had  heard  the  one  thing  she  wished 
to  hear,  and  now  no  heed  was  paid  to  any  further  word. 

"  That  inn  in  Thames  Street  is  a  capital  place  to  get 
abroad  from,  under  foggy  circumstances,"  Mr.  Slimp  re- 
sumed, with  spirit  ;  "  and  we  can  manage,  if  you  really  wish 
me  to  undertake  it." 

"  I  will  think  of  what  you  tell  me,"  said  Honor,  quite 
coldly,  though  she  was  actually  trembling  in  her  fear  of 
this  man  in  his  treachery;  "  I  will  see  you  again." 

The  fear,  so  proudly  battled  with,  took  the  form  in  Mr. 
Blimp's  eyes  of  a  new  courage,  and  he  gazed  in  servile 
admiration  on  the  girl's  beautiful,  easy  figure,  now  that  she 
seemed  to  understand  him  at  last. 

"  In  the  meantime  pray  fix  upon  your  own  price  " — the 
word  was  uttered  in  the  very  refinement  of  scorn,  and 
Honor's  eyes  swept  over  the  narrow  form  of  the  little  traitor 
before  her — "  for  secrecy,  and  I  will  purchase  it  from  you 
• — if  your  terms  suit  me." 

"  To  you,  Miss  Craven,  a  thousand  pounds  is  scarcely 
worth  speaking  of  ;  therefore  you  would  not,  I  hope,  think 
a  thousand  pounds  " 

"  To  effect  my  purpose,"  said  Honor,  quietly,  while  sh« 
raised  her  clear  eyes  fully  to  his  crafty  face,  "  one  thousand 


826  OLD  MYDDELTOfl'S  MOJS'EY. 

pounds  would  be  too  little.  Make  your  own  terms,  and  1 
will  see  you  here,  at  this  hour  to-morrow." 

An  expression  of  immense  self-satisfaction  settled  in  Mr. 
Slimp's  face.  He  could  afford  now  to  be  confidential  even 
on  an  almost  extraneous  subject. 

"  If  poor  Mr.  Haughton's  last  move  had  not  so  signally 
failed  him,  Miss  Craven,"  he  began,  in  atone  for  which  she 
could  have  annihilated  him  where  he  stood,  "  the  old  and 
well-established  name  and  business  would  have  been  saved, 
and  his  present  difficulties  never  made  public  ;  but  that  last 
move  did  fail,  and  he  himself  had  no  power  of  getting  out 
of  his  present  ecrape.  He  felt  so  very  certain  of  the  iden- 
tity of  Mr.  Keith,  of  WestMgh  Towers,  with  the  man  who 
murdered  Squire  Myddelton,  of  Abbotamoor,  eleven  years 
ago,  that,  even  with  only  the  very  slight  and  presumptive 
evidence  which  he  was  able  to  amass  during  almost  two 
years  of  search  and  inquiry,  he  went  in  person  to  infurm 
Mr.  Keith  that  the  whole  proof  was-  in  his  own  hands,  and 
that  he  would  at  once  give  him  over  to  the  law  as  the  con- 
demned and  escaped  criminal,  Gabriel  Myddelton,  unless  he 
chose  to  buy  his  immunity — you  understand,  Miss  Craven  ? 
That  move,  as  I  said,  most  signally  failed  ;  for — a  humili- 
ating fact  which  we  first  learned  in  Jhis  interview—  the 
innocence  of  Gabriel  MyddeUon  is  now  legally  established  ; 
and  I  myeelf  saw  the  documents  proving  it.  I  came  up  to 
town  on  purpose,  and  read  them  all  at  the  Home  Office." 

"  His  innocence  !  " 

Honor  had  no  idea  that  the  two  words  had  passed  her 
lips,  and  after  their  utterance  her  siler.ce  was  intense. 

"  And  more  than  that,"  resumed  Bickerton  Slimp,  with 
an  air  of  jaunty  encouragement,  "  I  do  not,  and  never  did, 
believe  in  the  identity  of  Gabriel  Myddelton  with  Mr. 
Keith  of  Westleigh — who,  by  the  way,  seems  dying  rapidly. 
Of  course  I  have  helped — for  my  own  purposes — in  fasten  - 
log  the  suspicion  upon  him,  but  I  never  saw  our  way 
dlearly  to  a  grain  of  tangible  proof;  and  I  always  felt  that 
if  he  had  been  the  man  whom,  for  eleven  years,  Lawyer 
Haughton  had  been  trying  to  hunt  down,  he  could  never 
have  had  such  doubts  about  him,  or  shown  such  hesitation 
and  uncertainty  in  the  case.  Ee  is  not  one  to  be  delayed 
by  pcruples,  and  1  always  understood  his  one  reason  for  noi 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  327 

capturing  his  man,  and  the  solution  of  those  days  and 
weeks  and  months  of  doubt  which  he  underwent.  If  he'd 
had  cause  to  feel  sure  in  his  own  mind,  the  capture  would 
have  been  sharp  work.  As  for  me,  I  doubted  all  along  if 
this  could  be  Gabriel  Myddelton,  and  now  I'll  take  my  oath 
it  is  not." 

The  words  all  entered  Honor's  ears  with  a  clear  ana 
almost  appalling  distinctness,  and  her  heart  was  wildly 
beating  ;  yet  she  stood  there  utterly  unmoved,  until  he 
departed  with  an  impressive  reiteration  of  his  intention  to 
be  at  her  service  next  day  at  that  hour. 

But  the  silence  and  the  stillness  left  her  when  he  left  her. 
She  moved  softly  and  restlessly  about  the  great,  silent 
room,  repeating  to  herself  those  words  which  seemed  to 
mean  so  much. 

"  Not  guilty  !  Gabriel's  innocence  !  Not  Gabriel — not 
Gabriel  !  Dying !  And  Gabriel  innocent !  " 

Gradually  her  brain  grew  confused,  and  she  lost  the  sense 
of  these  reiterated  words,  while  only  that  lately  formed 
resolution  of  hers  held  sway.  She  must  see  Lawrence  ;  she 
must  see  her  old  guardian  to-night,  for  fear  it  might  be  too 
late. 

Then  there  came  over  the  girl  a  feeling  of  loneliness  and 
dread  most  unusual  to  her.  She  listened  and  longed  for 
the  sound  of  Phoabe's  return,  while  still  she  tried,  with  all 
her  strength,  to  throw  off  this  new  and  miserable  foreboding, 
which  had  fallen  upon  her  with  such  a  terrible  weight,  and 
under  which  she  could  not  even  hope. 

What  was  it  ?  What  had  brought  this  crushing  weight 
upon  her  ?  Was  it  fear  for  Lawrence,  or — for  whom  ?  Had 
it  fallen  upon  her  when  she  heard  of  her  guardian's  crimes, 
or  of  Gabriel's  innocence,  or  of  that  interview  which  one  of 
Gabriel's  cousins  had  had  with  the  man  on  whom  he  laid  so 
foul  a  charge  ? 

She  battled  with  the  feeling,  striving  to  dissect  it,  that,  if 
possible,  the  action  might  dispel  it. 

"It  could  not  be,"  she  whispered  to  herself,  "  that  a 

felon's  fate  should  be  my  guardian's  now,  as  it  was 

It  could  not  be,"  she  moaned,  strangling  each  thought  aa 
it  forced  its  way  to  her  lips,  "that  there  should  be  a  fatal 
ending  to  this  illness  of  one  who  has  been  wrongly  judged, 


828  OLD  MYDlrELTON's  MONET, 

| 

It  cannot  be !  Oh  !  if  Phoebe  would  but  come,  and  speafc 
to  me  cf  other  things." 

The  house  seemed  so  large  and  silent,  and  she  so  solitary, 
that  when  at  last  Captain  Trent  came  into  the  library  un- 
announced, she  greeted  him  with  an  unfeigned  gladness, 
frhich  tilled  his  heart  with  an  exquisite  delight  as  unex- 
pected as  it  was  delusive. 

"  Honor,"  he  cried,  his  joy  overmastering  him,  "  are  you 
really  glad  to  see  me — are  you  really  ?" 

"  So  glad,"  she  answered,  speaking  low  in  the  gravity  of 
her  own  engrossed  thoughts.  "  Phoebe  is  away." 

The  last  few  words  could  not  damp  him,  for  her  greeting 
had  given  him  just  the  sliglit  encouragement  which  was  all 
he  needed;  and  once  more — more  urgently  tlian  ever,  but 
for  the  last  time  now — he  poured  out  the  old  story  of  what 
he  cal'ed  his  unconquerable  and  unchangeable  love.  He 
never  guessed  what  pain  he  gave  her,  and  she  did  not  blame 
him  by  one  thought ;  because  she  saw  that,  as  deeply  as  it 
was  possible  for  him  to  feel,  he  felt  this. 

Softly  and  kindly  she  answered  him,  as  she  had  answered 
him  often,  but  she  saw  how  much  more  earnest  he  was  now 
than  he  had  ever  been  before,  and  she  saw  that  only  one 
thing  which  she  could  say  could  prevent  this  old  scene  being 
repeated.  It  would  be  well  for  Hervey.  Once  let  him  feel 
that  this  love  of  his  was  hopeless,  and  he  would  quietly 
submit,  and  live  his  new  life  still  more  earnestly  ;  once 
feel  that  he  must  take  this  first  love  from  his  heart,  and  he 
would  seek  another  love  to  take  its  place.  No  fear  that 
Hervey's  heart  would  break  in  solitary  suffering 

And  for  herself?  Well,  it  would  be  best  for  Hervey, 
and  she  could  trust  him  now.  She  laid  her  right  haud 
gently  upon  his,  and  looked  up  into  his  face  with  a  glance 
so  earnest  and  so  true — so  sorry  for  him  and  so  sorry  for 
herself — that  he  felt,  instinctively,  that  whatever  words 
she  uttered  would  be  uttered  solemnly  from  her  heart,  and 
Juust  be  sacred  between  them  for  evermore. 

"Hervey,  I  will  tell  you  the  truth  to-night,  while  we  are 
here  alone  together,  and  then  I  know  you  will  never  speak 
to  me  again  as  you  have  just  done.  It  will  save  us  both 
pain  afterward",  for  you  will  see  how  impossible  it  would 
be  for  me  •  vu  to  give  you  a  different  answer  from  that 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  329 

which  I  have  just  given.  I  have  no  power  to  give  my  love 
to  you,  or  to  anyone  now,  Hervey,  for  it  was  given  long  ago. 
We  are  cousins  and  old  friends,  are  we  not  ?  And  when  I 
tell  you  this,  I  trust  you  with  all  my  heart." 

The  great  astonishment  which  filled  his  mind  was  plainly 
written  in  his  face.  Could  this  be  possible  ?  Honor,  who 
had  never  seemed  to  care  for  anyone  in  particular,  foi  whose 
love  so  many  strove,  and  to  win  whom  no  trouble  could  be 
too  great,  no  wooing  too  persistent !  Honor  to  have  given 
her  love  away  long  ago  !  Why,  long  ago  must  be  in  those 
old  times  in  Statton,  which,  in  Hervey's  mind,  had  long 
been  entirely  disconnected  with  Honor's  present  life.  How 
could  it  be,  and  to  whom  ? 

A  sudden  fear  for  her — which  a  minute  ago  would  have 
appeared  impossible,  and  a  minute  hence  was  to  again 
appear  impossible — made  him  took  down  questioningly  and 
almost  pityingly  into  her  face.  Ah,  no,  Honor  could  never 
have  given  her  love  unsought  and  unreturned.  In  all  his 
Badness  and  despondency,  he  could  almost  have  smiled  at 
himself  for  the  fear. 

"  Do  not  ask  me,"  she  said,  reading  the  question  in  hi& 
eyes.  "  It  is  an  old  ache.  Do  not  make  me  speak  of  it  now, 
Hervey.  You  will  forgive  me  any  pain  that  I  have  caused 
you,  because  1  bear  a  sorer  still." 

"  Honor,"  he  whispered,  all  the  earnestness  and  manli- 
ness of  his  nature  rising  up  to  meet  this  trust  of  hers, 
"  thank  you  for  telling  me  this.  As  you  knew  it  would, 
it  has  killed  all  hope  within  me  ;  but  perhaps  it  is  better 
BO." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  another  gentle  touch  upon  hit 
hand,  as  she  dismissed  the  subject,  "  it  is  better  so." 

For  a  few  minutes  they  siood  in.  silence  there — in  the 
silence  which  only  trusted  friends  can  fall  into  —and  then 
Phoebe  returned  from  her  drive,  bright  and  excited.  Yet 
though  the  three  chatted  pleasantly,  and  even  jestingly 
together,  Phoebe— little  astute  as  she'  was — could  detect  an 
undertone  of  sadness  in  Honor's  voice,  and  could  read  the 
new  look  of  quiet  hopelessness  on  Hervey's  face. 

"  Oh,  Honor  !  "  she  cried,  repeating  various  items  of  news 
ehe  had  heard  from  the  friends  with  whom  she  had  been 
driving,  "  Mr.  Keith  is  dreadfully  ill  at  Westleigh  ;.  and,  oJ 


S30  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

course,  the  girls  say  it  is  a  punishment  to  him  for  having 
turned  hermit  suddenly  in  the  middle  of  the  season,  and 
buried  himself  alive  in  his  castle  on  the  coast." 

Phoebe's  light  voice  ceased  suddenly,  and  she  left  the  room 
as  soon  as  she  could,  murmuring  unintelligible  reasons  for 
her  absence. 

Hervey  had,  quite  by  chance,  been  gazing  at  Honor  while 
these  words  were  uttered,  and  somehow — though  he  never 
afterwards  could  make  it  quite  clear  to  himself  how  it  had 
been — he  read,  in  that  moment,  the  one  part  of  the  secret 
which  Honor  had  not  told,  and  it  made  him  very  silent, 
until  a  question  from  Honor  roused  him. 

"  Hervey,"  she  said,  wistfully,  "  may  I  ask  you  to  do 
something  for  me  ?  " 

"  Anything — a  hundred  things  !  "  he  answered,  eagerly, 
whilft  still  the  heaviness  was  in  his  tone. 

"  I  want,"  she  said,  raising  her  clear,  grave  eyes  to  his, 
and  speaking  very  seriously,  "  to  see  my  own  cousin,  Gabriel 
Myddelton." 

"  Gabriel  Myddelton  !  " 

Captain  Trent  could  only  echo  the  name  in  his  surprise. 

"  Yes,  Hervey  ;  he  is  innocent,  and  has  been  wronged, 
and  I  long  to  tell  him  how  sorry  I  am  if  I  ever,  even  for  a 
moment,  felt  he  might  be  guilty." 

"  But,  Honor,  you  do  not  know  where  he  is." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  with  deep  thought ;  "  but  still  I 
want  this  message  borne  for  me.  Will  you  undertake  it, 
Hervey  ?  I  can  trust  you  best." 

"  Dear  Honor,  of  course  I  will ;  anywhere,  to  anyone  ; 
•nly  tell  me  where,  and  to  whom." 

"  To  Mr.  Keith,  at  Westleigh  Towers." 

*  But,  Honor" 

She  stayed  his  words  of  quick  surprise. 

"  You  wonder,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  why  I  should  send  thif 
message  to  him,  and  why  I  wish  you  to  deliver  it  yourself. 
Will  you  wait  for  your  answer,  Hervey  ?  Or  am  I  asking 
too  much  ?  " 

"  Too  much !  "  he  cried.  "  Why,  I  would  take  it  to  the 
world's  end  for  you,  Honor  !  " 

"  Thank  you,  then  that  is  all.  Just  say  to  Mr.  Keith 
that  I  have  a  preat  longing  to  see  my  cousin — my  own 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  331 

cousin — Gabriel  Myddelton,  and  that  I  pray  him  to  help  me 
to  do  bo.  That,"  Bhe  repeated,  slowly  and  thoughtfully, 
"is  all." 

He  asked  her  no  further  question,  and,  when  they 
separated,  he  whispered,  with  an  earnestness  which  waa 
totally  unselfish — 

"  I  shall  start  early  to-morrow,  Honor,  and  I  thank  yon 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  trusting  me." 

Honor  had  no  need  to  invent  an  excuse  for  avoiding  her 
engagements  that  night.  Who,  looking  into  her  white 
face,  could  fail  to  see  the  pain  she  suffered  ?  Still  she 
pleaded  so  anxiously  for  Phoebe  to  go  that  Miss  Owen 
consented,  though  with  great  unwillingness  at  first,  and 
drove  away  in  her  radiance,  leaving  Honor  standing  at  the 
hall  window  in  the  twilight,  smiling  a  bright  good-bye. 

Half  an  hour  after  Phoebe  had  arrived  at  her  destination, 
the  large  closed  carriage  stood  again  before  the  door  at 
Kensington,  this  time  waiting  for  the  young  mistress.  She 
did  not  take  her  seat,  as  Phoebe  had  done,  surrounded  by  a 
fairy  pile  of  gossamer  fabric  ;  but  she  came  from  the  house 
in  a  quiet  morning  dress,  and  taking  her  seat  wearily  upon 
the  wide  silk  cushions,  she  gave  the  order,  "  The  Anchorite, 
Thames  Street,"  just  as  she  would  have  given  it  to  Buck- 
ingham Palace. 

She  had  no  room  in  her  mind  to-night  for  any  thought 
of  what  her  grave  and  powdered  servants  might  surmise. 
Lawrence  was  not  suspected  yet,  and  she  must  see  him 
before  it  was  too  late.  That  was  all  she  allowed  herself  to 
think. 

Yet  this  haunting  dread,  this  subtle  foreboding,  which 
she  had  fought  against  so  hard,  held  her  still  in  its  firm 
grip.  And  she  gazed  from  the  carriage  window  with  a 
pitiful  yearning  for  some  sight  or  touch  which  should  dispel 
this  feeling,  for  she  knew  it  to  be  the  presage  of  some  evil 
or  some  agony  to  come. 


33S  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET, 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

A  more  glorious  victory  cannot  be  gained  over  another  man 
this,  that,  when  the  injury  began  on  bis  part,  the  kmdne»3  should 
begin  on  ours.  TILLOXSON. 

HONOR'S  carriage  was  being  driven  slowly  up  and  down 
before  the  inn  to  which  Mr.  Slimp  had  unintentionally 
directed  her,  and  she  herself  was  making  futile  inquiries  of 
an  obsequious  waiter,  when  Lawrence  Hanghton  entered 
the  house.  He  came  in  just  as  he  used  to  enter  his  office, 
moodily  and  silently,  but  still  with  his  head  erect  and  his 
step  heavily  arrogant.  There  was  no  shaBbiness  in  his 
attire,  no  slouching  in  his  gait,  no  cringing  in  his  bearing, 
as  there  had  been  in  his  ex-clerk's  ;  but  still,  when  Honor 
had  followed  him  upstairs,  and,  after  a  quiet  tap  upon  the 
door  of  his  private  sitting-room,  had  opened  it  before  he  had 
time  to  stay  the  entrance  of  any  one,  she  could  plainly  see 
— ay,  though  the  light  was  drearily  dim — that  he  had  a 
manner  strangely  at  variance  with  his  old,  self-contained 
assurance. 

If  she  had  not  been  so  wrapped  up  in  her  own  earnest 
purpose,  Honor  would  have  been  literally  frightened  by  the 
effect  her  sudden  appearance  had  upon  him.  The  swarthy 
colour  left  his  face,  and  beads  of  perspiration  stood  thickly 
on  his  brow. 

"  Honor ! "  he  stammered,  his  voice  hard  and  huskf 
"Honor— you?" 

"Yes,  Lawrence." 

"You  !"  he  repeated,  as  if  the  shock  had  deprived  him 
of  the  power  of  further  utterance,  while  his  eyes  clave  to 
her  face  in  almost  terrible  nervousness.  "  Here — alone  'i " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  again.  "  I,  Lawrence,  and  alone,  of 
course,  because  I  came  on  purpose  to  see  you." 

He  drew  towards  him  one  of  the  unlighted  candles  wlriuh 
stood  upon  the  table,  and  taking  a  box  of  wax-lights  from 
his  pocket,  struck  one  after  another,  all  equally  clumsily. 

"  No,  please,"  said  Honor,  staying  his  hand  with  <r^ri  fit- 
ness. "  Don't  you  think  there  is  light  enough,  Lawiuuou  :  * 


OL1)  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  333 

He  dropped  the  last  match,  and  pushed  the  candlestick 
from  him  ;  then  he  moved  slowly,  until  he  stood  with  his 
back  against  the  window,  his  eyes  still  riveted  upon  Honor, 
who  faced  the  fading  light,  beautiful  in  her  gravity  and 
earnestness. 

"Why  did  you  come  ?'-'  he  faltered  at  last.  "Is  there 
not  humiliation  enough  in  store  for  me  ?  Of  all  the  world, 
why  did  you  come  ?  " 

"I  have  come,"  she  answered,  quietly,  "  to  ask  my  old 
guardian  to  let  me  help  him  now." 

He  was  fighting  hard,  as  she  could  see,  with  the  feelings 
which  mastered  him  ;  the  consciousness  of  his  plans  being 
baffled,  his  love  lost,  his  ambition  wrecked  ;  and  in  hor 
pity  she  strove  to  forget  everything  save  her  old  regard  for 
him,  and  her  best  memory  of  his  care  and  guardianship. 
Looking  almost  as  she  u?ed  to  look  in  those  old  days,  anil 
speaking  to  him  almost  as  if  he  were  her  guardian  still, 
she  told  him — without  reverting  to  any  particular  crisis  in 
his  affairs — what  she  wished  to  do  for  him. 

Kindly  and  anxiously  she  spoke,  and  as  he  listened,  the 
faint,  wild  hope  of  her  affection  which  had  existed  in  his 
mind  even  to  this  hour,  died  a  sudden  and  a  hopeless  death. 
In  her  pure  warm  pity,  and  in  memory  of  those  old  times 
when  hrs  home  had  been  hers,  she  wished  to  rescue  him 
from  poverty,  and  to  clear  his  name  from  dishonour.  But 
there  could  never  be  a  resurrection-day  even  for  the  friend- 
ship of  those  old  times. 

"You  know  it  all,  then,  Honor  ?"  he  asked,  his  lips  stiff 
and  dry.  "  Of  course  Slimp  went  to  you  at  once  with  hi? 
own  story." 

"  He  came  to  me  this  afternoon  ;  I  hope  it  was  at  once, 
as  you  say,  because  it  will  not  be  well  to  lose  time, 
Lawrence." 

"Time — I  have  no  time  left  me,"  he  muttered,  doggedly; 
"Slimp  will  have  bruited  my  affairs  all  over  Kinbury  before 
this  time  to-morrow." 

"  He  is  to  do  nothing  until  this  time  to-morrow,"  Honor 
said  ;  "  then  he  will  come  to  know  my  decision." 

"  On  ? Your  decision  on  ?  " questioned  Law. 

rence,   hurriedly.     "Has  he  been  offering  you  the 
of  'i  " 


834  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

"Never  mind  what  he  offered,"  put  in  the  girl,  qnietly  ; 
"his  offers,  as  well  as  his  motives,  are  too  despicable  to 
occupy  us  for  a  moment.  In  his  selfish  haste  he  has  done 
what  both  you  and  I  may  some  day  thank  him  for  doing 
When  he  comes  to  me  to-morrow,  Lawrence,  I  hope  that 
you  yourself  will  see  him.  It  will  be  kind  of  you  to  gir-ro 
me  another  interview  with  hims  and,  besides  that,  he  will 
understand  better  from  you  how  unnecessary  his  interference 
will  be." 

"The  little  dastardly  thief,"  muttered  Mr.  Haughton, 
between  his  teeth  ;  "  it  is  he  who  has  been  the  one  to  tempt 
me,  and  to  lower  me  to  this  pass." 

"  A  poor  tempter,"  said  Honor,  in  quiet  scorn. 

"  Ay,  poor  enough  ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  do  business 
for  years  with  a  wily,  double-natured  sneak,  and  not  find 
his  guidance  grow  easy,  whether  one  stands  up  against  it  at 
first  or  not ;  especially,"  he  added,  with  a  flash  of  honesty, 
"  if  one's  own  disposition  is  to  grind  and  save  and — specu- 
late." 

"  It  must  have  been  that,"  interposed  Honor,  with  a 
glance  of  puzzled  anxiety  ;  "  for  you  were  never  extrava- 
gant or  reckless  in  your  expenditure." 

"  No,  I  have  no  pleasure  in  spending  on  myself— or  on 
anyone  else,"  he  answered,  bitterly.  "  You  know — for  you 
often  said  it  in  old  times,  Honor — that  I  saved  my  money 
just  like  old  Myddelton.  That  it  was  which  brought  on  the 
passion  of  speculation  ;  and  see  how  it  has  ended.  I  am  a 
ruined  man,  and  my  only  chance  of  even  personal  safety  is 
cut  off  now  by  a  traitor  who  has  been  my  abettor  and 
encourager  all  along ;  and  who  turned  my  ruling  passion — 
avarice — to  all  his  own  base  ends." 

"  Why  talk  of  him  ?  "  asked  Honor,  gravely.  "  Think  of 
what  you  yourself  wish  to  nndo,  Lawrence." 

"  It  is  too  late,"  he  said,  and  put  one  hand  before  his 
eyes. 

"  No,  not  too  late,  Lawrence,  nor  is  there  any  risk  for 
your  personal  safety,  as  you  say.  You  will  be  able  to  leave 
England  when  you  choose,  and  with  your  name  unsullied. 
Tell  me  if  I  have  done  what  is  right.  It  was  so  hard  for 
me  to  know,  because  you — and  then  Mr.  Stafford — have 
managed  these  things  lor  me,  and  left  me  ignorant.  Give 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  SG3 

me    your  advice  now,   Lawrence.      Will  yon   nave   this 
uncrossed  cheque  upon  my  banker  here,  and  take  the  money 
yourself  to  Kinbury  to-morrow,  or  will  you  have  this  crossed 
cheque,  and  pay  it  in  to  your  account  at  Kinbury  ?     Only 
tell  me  which,  and  the  sum  is  left  tor  you  to  add." 
"I — I  cannot,"  faltered  Lawrence,  brokenly. 
*'  Yes,  you  can,"  she  answered,  with  her  pretty  smile  ; 
"  you  will  not  let  a  silly  pride  come  between  you  and  your 
old  ward.    We  have  no  need  of  a  lawyer's  help,  have  we  ? " 
"  No  need,"  he  whispered,  in  the  anguish  of  many  mixed 
feelings  ;  "  but  I  cannot  take  it.      Oh!  Honor,  you  do  not 
know  the  half  of  my  deception." 

"  I  think  I  do,"  she  answered,  thoughtfully  ;  "  I  think 
that  Mr.  Slimp  would  rather  tell  me  more  than  less." 
*'  I  must  tell  yon,  and  tell  you  all,"  he  persisted. 
"  Very  well,  Lawrence,  but  not  until  to-morrow  :  wheu 
you  come  to-morrow  you  shall  tell  me  all.     Then  justice 
will  have  been  done  to  those  who  have  been  wronged,  or  are 
poor." 

"  Honor,"  he  cried,  moving  in  sudden  haste  from  the 
position  he  had  so  closely  maintained,  "  hew  can  I  bear  this 
— to  rob  you  even  more  than  I  have  done  ?  1  cannot.  I 
will  go  away.  I  .will  go  to-night,  as  I  always  meant  to  do, 
If  they  capture  me — if,  led  on  by  my  own  clerk,  they  bring 
me  back  to  face  the  law — it  will  be  simple  justice  after  all ; 
while  this — no,  I  cannot  do  you  such  a  wrong." 

"  The  wrong  has  been  done  to  others,  Lawrence,"  said 
Honor,  sadly  ;  "  what  I  ask  is,  that  you  will  repair  it  as  far 
as  you  are  able." 

"  As  I  am  able  I"  echoed  Lawrence,  bitterly.  "  No  ;  it 
is  you  who  would  save  me  from  disgrace  and  publicity,  and 
I  cannot  take  more  from  you,  Honor.  I  will  leave  England 
to-ni^ht." 

"  Not  to-night,"  she  said,  with  gentle  kindness,  as  she 
put  the  cheque  into  his  hand  ;  "  I  shall  not  persuade  you 
against  going,  Lawrence,  because  you  may  think  it  best, 
but  you  will  not  go  under  fear  of  pursuit,  leaving  those 
wrongs  unredressed,  and  bearing  the  terrible  consciousness 
of  having  injured  those  who  trusted  you." 
"  BuUt  is  done." 
"Yes,  it  is  done,"  she  answered,  sadly;  "but  we  can 


£3G  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

make  amends.  All  must  have  what  is  dne  to  them  ;  and, 
Lawrence — my  dear  old  guardian — you  can  go  then  with  a 
name  which  is  not  hated  and  dishonoured." 

He  stood  unmoved  while  she  laid  the  paper  in  his  hand, 
but  she  knew  that  this  was  the  chill  of  agony,  not  indifference- 

"If,"  she  said,  with  a  great  effort  to  speak  cheerfully  at 
last,  "  if  Lawyer  Haughton  chooses  to  wind  up  his  affairs 
and  go  abroad,  what  wonder  need  it  cause  ?  Such  things 
are  almost  of  common  occurrence  now." 

"  I  can — I  can  sell  my  practice  then,"  said  Lawrence, 
with  a  sudden  break  in  his  misery.  "  II  I  wait  in  England 
to  undo  this  evil,  then  the  practice  will  be  worth  what  it 
was  before,  and  I  shall  net  be  utterly  penniless." 

"  That  will  be  pleasant,"  she  answered,  with  a  smile. 
"You  will  come  to-morrow,  Lawrence,  and  tell  me  all  u 
safe  and  well.  Now  I  must  go." 

"  But,"  he  said,  with  a  change  from  his  short-lived  excite- 
ment, "  you  could  not  do  this,  Honor,  if  you  knew  what 
had  been  my  last  effort  at  degradation — you,  who  ahva\s 
thought  so  kindly  of  Gabriel  Myddelton,  and,  through  all, 
believed  him  innocent." 

"  I  do  know,"  she  said  quietly,  when  he  paused. 

"  Slimp  told  you  that  too,  did  he  ?"  Lawrence  Haughton 
cried.  "  And  did  he  tell  how  I,  like  others,  had  been  a 
blind  fool  all  along,  and  that  Gabriel  Myddelton  was 
innocent?" 

"  Yes,  he  told  me  that ;  and  he  told  me  " — the  struggle 
it  cost  her  to  say  these  words  as  she  had  said  the  others 
was  most  pitiful — "  that  you  were  mistaken  when  you 
thought  that  Gabriel  Myddelton  had  come  home  as  Eoyden 
Keith." 

No  answer  ;  and  she  made  the  words  a  question,  raising 
her  eyes  longingly  to  his. 

"  Was  that  true,  Lawrence  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so  ;  but  Heaven  only  knows,"  he  answered, 
pettishly.  "  It  has  been  a  studied  belief  of  mine  for  two 
years.  How  can  I  root  it  out  so  suddenly  ?" 

"  But  if  he  had  been  our  cousin  Gabriel,  would  you  not 
immediately  have  recognized  him  ?  " 

"It  is  more  than  twelve  years  since  I  saw  Gabriel 
Myddelton,"  Laurence  answered,  moodily,  and  unoon- 


OLD   MYDDELTON'8  MONET.  33? 

betraying  his  own  doubts.  "But,  remember, 
Honor,"  lie  added,  hurriedly,  "  that  if  he  does  prove  to  bo 
Gabriel,  and  is  innocent,  or  even  if  Gabriel  Myddelton 
eventually  turns  up,  you  have  nothing  to  fear.  01J 
Id  yddel  ton's  money  was  willed  to  you,  and  no  man  on 
earth,  even  being  a  Myddelton,  can  claim  it  from  you. 
Remember  that,  Honor,  my  " 

Bat  a  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  was  able  just  then  to 
restrain  even  Lawrence  Haughton.  He  could  not  see  her 
face  plainly  now,  for  the  twilight  had  deepened  to  the  first 
darkness  of  the  summer  night,  and  the  wiudow  was  narrow, 
and  its  panes  not  over  clear,  but  he  spoke  with  a  change  of 
lone. 

"  Honor,  forgive  me  ;  and  you  will  remember  what  I  say, 
if  I  am  not  here.  There  is  no  flaw  in  Lady  Lawrence's  will, 
and  old  Myddelton  left  her  the  power  of  bequeathing  his 
wealth,  without  any  restrictions." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  absently,  as  she  offered  him  her  hand, 
"  I  remember." 

He  held  it  tightly  in  his  own,  while  the  old  passion,  rising 
with  a  greater  strength  than  ever,  wrote  its  lines  upon  his 
hard,  stern  face,  and  while  he  crushed  back  with  a  violent 
effort  the  pitiable  confession  which  rushed  with  almost  con- 
quering force  to  his  lips. 

"  I  shall  see  you  to-murrow,"  he  whinpered,  "  for  the  last 

time;  and  it  might  have  been  that" Then  he  broke 

utterly  down,  and  it  was  some  minutes  before  he  regained 
the  mastery  over  himself. 

Not  another  word  could  he  utter  as  he  took  Honor  dowu 
and  put  her  into  her  carriage,  not  even  in  answer  to  her 
kind  good-bye  ;  and  when  she  had  driven  out  of  sight,  ho 
was  still  standing  there  upon  the  pavement  where  she  had 
left  him,  lost  in  a  deep,  regretful  dream. 

In  spite  of  that  cheery  look  and  smile,  Honor's  heart  was 
very  heavy  as  she  drove  home  ;  and  through  all  this  doubt 
would  force  itself — Was  she  fulfilling  well  the  trust  whiiih. 
her  great  wealth  had  brought  her  ?  Only  her  own  heart 
could  answer  the  question  which  it  asked,  but  she  knew  that 
nu  such  hesitation  could  have  stayed  her  in  this  visit  to  her 
old  guardian. 

It  was  quite  early  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day 


838  OLD  MYDDELTOff'S  MONET. 

he  came  to  Kensington  ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  weight  of 
Bhame  which  bowed  him  down,  when  he  begged  her  to  let 
him  tell  her  of  his  delinquencies  and  debts,  she  saw  a 
marked  change  in  him,  which  reminded  her  of  one  or  two 
far  days  back  in  her  old  home,  when  Jane  and  Phoebe  had 
been  away,  and  he  had  tried  to  make  his  favourite  happy 
without  vexing  her  by  any  sign  or  uttered  word  of  love. 

She  interrupted  him  continually  when  he  enlarged,  with  a 
morbid  self-torture,  on  the  failure  of  so  many  of  his  specu- 
lations, which,  as  she  had  rightly  guessed,  had  been 
maliciously  exaggerated  by  Mr.  Slimp  ;  and  they  spent  a 
not  unpleasant  time  together  before  the  time  for  the  clerk's 
visit. 

"You  will  come  upstairs,  Lawrence,  when  he  is  gone^ 
won't  you  ?  "  Honor  said,  when  she  rose  to  leave  the  room 
at  Mr.  Slimp's  hour.  "  I  shall  wait  for  you.  Phoebe  ia 
shopping.  I  shall  be  quite  alone." 

She  sat  and  waited  for  him,  without  offering  to  takfc 
either  book  or  work  into  her  hands,  her  thoughts  too  deeply 
engrossed  by  her  old  guardian's  possible  future,  and  100 
intensely  anxious  over  it.  But  she  had  not  long  to  waitj 
and  she  turned  with  a  smile  when  he  entered, 

"  So  soon,  Lawrence  !     I  am  glad." 

"  Yes,  he  had  no  wish  and  no  need  to  stay,"  said  Mr. 
Haughton,  coming  forward  with  a  curious  and  uncharacter- 
istic air  of  diffidence.  "  He  tried  two  or  three  different 
experiments ;  he  tried  insinuations,  and  threats,  and, 
promises  ;  but  from  the  first  he  saw  his  own  mistake* 
Honor,  you  bade  me  help  him  for  you,  if  he  were  poor,  bub 
he  is  not  poor.  He  has  carefully  guarded  his  own  interests 
always  ;  and,  though  he  is  baffled  and  mortified,  it  is,  after 
all,  his  own  doing,  and  he  has  not  left  himself  in  any 
awkward  circumstances — trust  him  for  that." 

"  Then  we  may  dismiss  every  thought  and  memory  of 
him,"  said  Honor,  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  And  now,  Law- 
rence, tell  me  more  of  your  own  plans." 

They  sat  together  for  a  quiet  hour,  talking  of  these  plana 
and  hopes.  It  was  an  hour  which  even  Honor  remembered 
for  years,  while  for  him  it  was  to  be  of  life-long  memory, 
shining  like  a  star  in  his  gloomy  past,  and  ever  leading  his 
thoughts  to  those  better  things  of  which  she  spoke. 


OLD  MYDDELTONS  MONEY.  833 

His  eyes  and  lip^  had  lost  their  hardness,  when  at  last  he 
rose  to  say  good-bye.  Honor  had  heard  Phoebe  Owen's 
return,  and,  with  her  hand  upon  the  door,  she  stayed  him. 

"You  will  like  to  bid  good-bye  to  Phoebe,  Lawrence  ? " 

"  No,"  he  cried,  hurriedly,  "  no  ;  let  yours  be  my  last. 
What  is  Phoebe's  compared  with  ? " 

"  Stay  one  minute,  Lawrence,"  she  interrupted,  grieved  to 
gee  this  momentary  return  to  his  old  manner.  "  I  will  send 
Phoele,  and  yet  I  will  have  the  last  hand-shake.  Phoebe 
was  once  your  ward,  as  I  was.  We  have  only  an  equal 
claim  upon  you ;  and  this,  you  say,  is  to  be  a  long  good- 
bye." 

And,  before  he  could  answer,  she  was  gone. 

"  Phoebe,"  said  Honor,  watching  her  cousin's  face  rather 
curiously  as  she  gave  her  message,  "  will  you  go  and  see 
Lawrence  ?  He  is  going  abroad,  and  is  come  to  bid  us 
good-bye.  I  shall  come  in  to  you  presently.  And  suppose 
1  order  tea  ?  Lawrence  will  not  stay  and  dine  wi;h  us,  but 
still  he  may  aft'ord  to  idle  a\\ay  five  minutes  over  a  cup  of 
tea." 

"  Is  Lawrence  really  going  abroad  ?  " 

The  question  came  from  Phoebe's  lips,  freighted  only  with 
surprise.  Honor  saw  this  with  a  feeling  of  deep  thank- 
fulness. The  time  was  come  for  which  she  used  to  long,  and 
Phoebe's  inexplicable  infatuation  was  over. 

"  Why  is  it  ? "  inquired  Miss  Owen,  standing  placidly  for 
her  maid  to  arrange  her  tunic  after  the  inevitable  crushing 
of  the  drive.  "Why  does  he  go  so  suddenly  ?  " 

"You  forget  that  we  cannot  expect  now  to  be  aware  of  his 
plans  until  they  are  made  public.  If  he  had  been  intending 
and  preparing  for  this  for  months,  we  should  not  have; 
known  it." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  rejoined  Phoebe,  with  the  ghost  of 
a  sigh  ;  "  I'm  ready.  You  won't  be  long,  Honor  ?  " 

Honor  smiled  at  the  requ  'St.  It  was  so  unlike  the  old 
limes,  when,  to  gain  a  few  minutes  of  her  guardian's  sole 
attention,  Phoebe  would  have  exercised  herself  in  any  harm- 
less stratagem.  She  waited  only  a  few  minutes,  timing  her 
entrance  just  as  the  footmen  carried  in  the  trays  ;  and 
Lawrence  did  stay,,  and  Honor's  purpose  was  successful,  for 
the  purling  was  an  easy,  natural  parting,  and  Mr.  Hau-hton'a 


340  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

feeling  was  Chat  he  had  left  the  house  of  true  friends, 
had  genially  and  pleasantly  entertained  him  ;  not  that  he 
had  departed  in  bitter  humiliation,  with  coals  of  fire  headed 
upon  his  head.  This  was  Honor's  intention,  and  she  had, 
as  usual,  brightly  worked  its  fulfilment. 

"  Honor,  how  can  it  be  ?  "  cried  Phcebe,  when  the  two 
girls  were  left  together  again.  "To  think  that  I  have 
parted  from  Lawrence,  and  yet  am  not  broken-hearted  !  I 
can  hardly  believe  it — can  you  ? — remembering  how  differ- 
ent things  used  to  be  ?  I  wish  he  would  have  told  me  what 
first  induced  him  to  form  this  pi;  n." 

It  was  because  Honor  had  feared  such  questions  for  him 
that  she  had  not  left  him  long  with  Phoebe  ;  but  it  would 
seem  that  Miss  Owen  had  made  time  for  several. 

"Jane  will  be  pretty  lonely  at  The  Larches,"  she  con. 
tinned,  "  but  she  will  keep  the  house  on,  Lawrence  says. 
Why,  Jane  never  had  above  a  hundred  a  year  of  her  own, 
had  she,  Honor  ?  Do  you  think  she  can  manage  to  live  at 
The  Larches  on  that  ?  Lawrence  says  Slimp  is  in  London 
now,  and  likely  to  stay  here.  I  wonder  whether  his  leaving 
the  office  had  anything  to  do  with  Lawrence's  decision  ; 
because  I  always  thought  Slimp  would  stay  in  Kinbury  all 
his  life — didn't  you  ?  " 

So  the  girl  ran  on,  but  Honor  managed  to  evade  her 
answers  ;  while  f-very  minute  now,  as  night  drew  on,  he,r 
own  iinxiety  grew  greater  and  greater  for  tidings  from 
Ueryej,  or  tidings  which  Hervey  might  possibly  bring. 


CHAPTER  XXXTX. 

It't  hame,  hame,  Lame,  to  my  ain  countree. 

ALLAN 


CAPTAIN  TRENT  journeyed  to  Westleigh  by  the  first  train 
from  London,  yet  it  was  past  mid-day  when  he  pulled  the 
great  iron  bell  beside  the  arched  door  of  The  Towers.  From 
the  moment  this  door  was  thrown  open  to  him,  a  certain 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  £41 

hush  upon  the  house  made  the  contrast  wonderfully  strong 
between  this  day  and  that  merry  one  he  had  spent  here 
before,  when  old  Mrs.  Payte  arrived  so  suddenly  with 
Honor,  and  the  house  had  been  filled  with  gaiety  and 
laughter.  Yes,  Mr.  Keith  was  at  home,  the  grave  old 
butler  told  him,  and  led  him  to  a  long,  high  room  on  the 
right  of  the  hall — a  room  in  which  the  solitary  figure  of  an 
old  lady,  sewing  beside  the  window,  looked  almost  like  a 
doll's. 

"  Mr.  Keith,"  she  repeated,  dubiously,  as  she  came  for- 
ward to  receive  Hervey's  bow  and  ir;quiry,  "  he — yes,  I  have 
Jo  doubt  he  will  see  you  ;  but  he  is  far  from  well.  You 
will  excuse  the  liberty  I  take,  as  an  old  woman,  Captain 
Trent,"  glancing  at  his  card,  "  if  I  ask  you  not  to  let  me 
summon  Mr.  Keith  if— if  it  is  unnecessary,  or  " 

Hervey  read  the  real  anxiety  in  the  pleasant  face — to 
read  such  thoughts  as  these  was  not  impossible  to  him  now 
— but  he  could  not  guess  how  rarely  had  visitors  late!/ 
brought  any  pleasure  to  Hoyden. 

"  Indeed,"  he  said,  in  what  Phoebe  called  "  his  nice  way," 
MI  would  not  ask  to  see  Mr.  Keith  at  all  if  I  felt  that  I 
were  bringing  him  worry  or  anxiety.  Let  me  assure  you 
that  it  is  quite  the  reverse." 

Miss  Henderson  smiled,  partly  in  relief,  and  partly  in 
acknowledgment  of  the  courtesy  of  Hervey's  manner. 

"  I  will  take  your  card,"  she  said,  and  left  him  alone  in 
the  long  room. 

Only  a  few  minutes  passed  before  Royden  entered  ;  and 
at  that  moment  Captain  Trent  experienced  the  greatest 
shock  he  had  felt  through  all  his  life,  though  he  little 
gueseed  how  long  the  effect  of  this  sudden  shock  was  to 
hover  about  him,  and  have  its  share  in  deepening  the  grow- 
ing seriousness  of  his  own  thoughts  and  feelings. 

"  My  God,  Keith  !  "  he  faltered,  incapable  of  hiding  his 
pained  astonishment, "  have  you  been  so  ill  ? 

"  I  have  not  been  ill,"  said  Royden,  quietly,  as  he  took 
flervey's  outstretched  hand  ;  "  I  mean,  not  worse  than  1 
am  now.  If  an  illness  is  my  doom,  it  is  in  the  future,  not 
the  past." 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Hervey,  losing  every  trace  of  his  old 
i,  ii8  he  drew  forward  a  large  arm-chair,  aud, 


54f  OLD   KYDDELTONS  MONEY. 

taking  a  seat  himself  to  insure  Hoyden's  taking  hig,  tried  to 
remove  his  frightened  gaze  from  his  companion's  face — so 
worn  and  pallid,  and  yet  bearing  still,  even  in  its  weakness, 
that  wonderful  strength  of  patience  and  steadfastness  which, 
far  more  than  any  difference  in  features  and  form,  made  the 
contrast  between  these  tsvo  men  so  striking. 

"  How  are  all  my  old  friends,  Captain  Trent  ?  "  inqnired 
Hoyden,  seeing  much  of  the  change  in  Hervey — for  his 
glance,  though  weary  and  feverish,  had  its  old  keen  power 
^-and  wondering  a  little  over  it. 

"  All  well,"  said  Hervey,  trying  to  talk  easily.  "  I  hare 
A)  me  as  messenger  from  one  of  them." 

"  Are  Mrs.  and  Miss  Trent  in  London  still  ?  " 

The  question  was  cool  and  easy,  and  the  listener  could 
not  detect  its  motive. 

"Yes,"  rejoined  Hervey,  with  unconcealed  indifference, 
"  indeed  they  are." 

"  And  your  other  cousins  ?  " 

"  Phosbe,"  replied  Hervey,  feeling  his  way  gradually  to 
the  message,  "  could  not  be  better,  I  fancy ;  she  enjoys 
three  days  for  every  one  she  lives  this  season." 

"  That  is  pleasant  for  her." 

"  But  Honor,"  resumed  Captain  Trent,  not  succeeding 
in  his  effort  to  be  quite  at  ease,  "does  not  seem  well,  or 
happy." 

No  answer,  and  Royden's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  sunny 
grass  beyond  the  open  window.  But  even  Hervey  could 
see  that  some  thought  had  deeply  shadowed  them. 

"And  she  bade  me,"  continued  Hervey,  his  voice  taking 
an  earnestness  which  the  memory  of  her  words  had  brought, 
"see  you,  Mr.  Keith,  and  tell  you  this  message  ;  I  must 
say  it  in  her  own  words,  it  will  be  easiest  ai  d  best.  She 
said,  'Will  you  tell  him  that  I  have  a  great  longing  to 
see  my  own  cousin,  Gabriel  Myddekon,  arid  I  beg  him 
to  help  me,  if  he  can.'  That  was  her  message,  Keith, 
/nst  as  she  entrusted  it  to  me.  What  answer  may  I  take 
her?" 

"  You  shall  take  her  Gabriel's  own  answer,  ]f  yon  will,'* 
he  said,  speaking  sadly,  after  a  slight  pause.  "  He  will  be 
grateful  for  this  message  from  the  only  one  of  all  his  house 
has  erer  spcken  kindly  of  him,  or  doubted  his 


OLD  MYDD ELTON'S  MONET.  843 

We  will  be  very  glad  of  it,  especially  if  you  deliver  it  your- 
•elf,  as  you  have  done  to  me." 

"  But  how  would  that  be  possible  ?  " 

"Would  you  go  to  him  if  it  were  possible  ?  " 

"Yes — certainly.  I  would  fulfil  Honor's  wish  to  tko 
letter." 

"  Then,  if  you  will  stay  with  me  to-night,  I  will  give  you 
an  address  in  Liverpool  where,  to  morrow,  you  will  find 
Gabriel  Myddelton — where  now  his  wife  is  waiting  to 
receive  him." 

"  His— wife." 

"  His  wife,"  repeated  Eoyden,  quietly.  "For  some  time 
she  has  been  staying  here  with  an  old  friend  of  hers,  the 
(ady  whom  you  met  just  now  ;  but  yesterday  she  went  to 
Liverpool  to  await  the  vessel  la  which  her  husband  sailed 
from  America.  His  life  is  safe  on  English  ground  now,  and 
he  is  glad  to  come." 

"  How  did  he  know  ?  "  faltered  Capiain  Trent. 

"  I  telegraphed  to  him  the  very  hour  his  innocence  was 
proved.  I  hoped  to  go  and  greet  him  when  he  landed,  but 
I  could  not." 

Hervey  sat  in  silence,  his  thoughts  growing  tangled. 

"  This  is  all  so  strange,"  he  said,  when  at  last  one  of 
those  thoughts  found  words.  "Can  Gabriel  Myddelton 
really  be  landing  in  England  to-day  ?  " 

"Really!" 

"  And  married  ?  " 

"  And  married,  Captain  Trent.  Even  with  that  brand 
upon  his  name,  he  found  one  whonvould  link  her  life  with 
his,  and  who — but  that  her  health  failed,  and  he  entreated 
ver  to  save  it  for  his  sake — would  never  have  parted  from 
^im." 

"  And  she  has  been  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  visiting  me  for  some  time  ;  we  are  very  old  friends  ; 
and  Miss  Henderson  and  she  are  very  old  friends,  too.  I 
Should  have  gone  with  her,  as  I  said,  if  had  been  better.  I 
noped  Miss  Henderson  would  go  instead,  but  she  would  not 
consent  to  leave  me.  So  Alice  Myddelton  went  with  Mr 
Romer — you  have  not  forgotten  what  a  good  fellow  your 
old  rector  was,  Captain  Trent  ?" 

"  Jndeed  I  have  not,  though  he  was  never  very  fond  of  me." 


844  OLD  MYDDELTON  S  MONET. 

They  talked  a  little  longer,  but  never  alluded  again  to 
those  old  days  in  Station  ;  and  presently  dinner  was  an- 
nounced. Royden  took  his  place  at  table,  but  Hervey 
noticed  that  he  touched  nothing  on  his  plate,  and  though 
he  talked  a  little,  Hervey  could  see  that  his  strength  wns 
Boon  exhausted,  and  that  Miss  Henderson  grew  painfully 
snxious. 

With  an  unusual  thoughtfulness,  Captain  Trent  strolled 
out  alone  after  dinner,  and,  when  he  came  in,  he  devoted 
himself  to  the  old  lady,  and  left  Royden  to  what  rest  he 
could  obtain. 

Captain  Trent  was  ready  next  morning  for  the  earliest 
train  to  Liverpool — industriously  and  anxiously  was  he  ful- 
filling this  trust  confided  to  him — but  early  as  it  was, 
Royden  came  down  into  the  hall  as  the  horses  drew  up  at 
the  door. 

"  You  will  find  no  difficulty,  I  think,"  he  said,  with  a 
grasp  of  his  hot  fingers.  "  I  am  very  glad  you  are  going, 
and  your  cousin  will  be  glad  too." 

"  Honor,  you  mean  ?" 

•'  No  ;  I  mean  Gabriel." 

"  Have  you  any  message  for  Honor  ?  "  inquired  Hervey, 
hoping  that  he  should  not  need  to  tell  her  how  Mr.  Keith 
was  looking. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  without  a  change  of  tone,  for  he 
had  schooled  himself  for  this.  "  Her  wish  ;*ill  be  fulfilled. 
She  will  see  her  cousin,  Gabriel  Myddelton." 

From  the  carriage,  Hervey  looked  back  upon  the  two 
stand  ing  in  old-fashioned  hospitality  to  see  him  off. 

"  He  looks — dying,"  mused  Captain  Trent  to  himself, 
with  an  uncomfortable  shudder,  "  and  the  old  lady  seems  to 
know  it  too.  She  is  not  very  wise,  though,  to  show  so 
plainly  that  she  knows  it.  Even  the  servants  seem  under  a 
cloud.  I  verily  believe  he  has  made  them  fond  of  him,  in 
an  old-fashioned  sort  of  style.  They  do  not  look  like 
domestic  machines.  How  courageously  he  defied  his  illness 
iast  night,  when  he  went  out  to  speak  to  those  fishermen, 
and  how  he  entered  into  all  they  had  to  say,  standing  there 
wiih  his  dogs  about  him.  I  believe  even  the  doga  are 
fretting  to  pee  him  changed." 

Hervey  Trent  did  not  arrive  in  Liverpool  until  a  whole 


OLD  MTDDELTON'S  MONET.  84* 

day  after  the  landing  of  the  passengers  from  the  Canard 
steamer,  and  he  had  little  difficulty  in  finding  Gabriel 
Myddelton  at  the  hotel  to  which  Koyden  had  directed  him. 
The  moment  he  met  his  cousin  face  to  face,  he  knew  him. 
It  was  the  face  from  the  picture  at  Abbot  smoor  ;  it  was  the 
face,  though  BO  much  changed,  of  the  boy-cousin  Hervey 
could  remember  playing  with,  and  always  envying  as  heir  of 
Abbotsmoor,  and  of  old  Myddelton's  money. 

Involuntarily  he  held  out  his  hand,  and  welcomed 
Gabriel  in  tones  the.'-  vere  ^usually  warm  and  genial  for 
Captain  Hervey  Trent.  Of  course  Gabriel  did  not  recognize 
trim  at  first,  and,  when  he  did,  his  welcome  seemed  much 
colder  than  Hervey's  ;  but  this  was  only  due  to  the  reserve 
which  had  grown  upon  him  during  his  twelve  years'  banish- 
ment. 

Beside  his  manner,  that  of  Alice  seemed  almost  cor  Jial. 
Perhaps  much  of  her  timidity  had  left  her,  now  that  she  felt 
her  husband  near  her  once  again,  and  in  safety  ;  bui 
perhaps  it  was  the  contrast  to  Gabriel's  dreamy  reticence. 

Hervey  had  just  repeated  again,  word  for  word,  the 
message  with  which  he  had  been  charged,  and  Gabriel  had 
answered,  with  a  gratitude  which  was  almost  touching,  that 
he  would  go  in  person  to  thank  Honor,  after  he  had  seen 
Hoyden,  when  a  telegram  was  brought  into  the  room. 

It  was  addressed  to  Alice,  but  her  fingers  trembled 
BO  sadly,  while  she  held  it,  that  Gabriel  gently  took  it  and 
opened  it  for  her  ;  Hervey,  waiting  beside  them,  felt  hi» 
heart  sink  with  fear.  The  telegram  was  from  Miss  Hen- 
derson at  Wedtleigh  Towers,  and  these  were  the  words  it 
bore  : — 

"  At  Mr.  Keith's  request  I  send  this  to  stop  your  return 
here.  For  you  in  your  delicate  health,  and  for  Mr. 
Myddelton,  after  his  voyage,  it  would  be  highly  unwise  to 
come.  Ask  Mr.  Myddelton  to  let  us  know  where  you  stay, 
and  I  will  write.  Mr.  Keith  even  wished  me  to  leave  him 
too.  It  is  aggravated  typhoid  fever,  Dr.  Franklin  fears, 
but  he  has  telegraphed  for  further  advice.  We  can  easily 
guess  by  what  it  has  been  brought  on,  and  indeed  by  what 
accelerated  since.  Of  course  I  shall  not  leave.  I  will  write, 
but  lo  not  be  alarmei  if  you  do  not  hear  very  soon.  Every 
»Miate  of  my  day  is  too  little  to  guve  him." 


846  OLD  MYDDELTOJTS  MONET. 

"  Oh,  Gabriel! "  cried  his  wife,  clasping  her  hands  nhont 
his  arm  when  the  telegram  fell  from  his  fingers.  "  What 
shall  we  do  ?  Oh,  poor,  poor  Roy  ?  " 

"  There  is  but  one  thing  for  me  to  do,"  said  Gabriel,  witl> 
intense  sorrow  in  his  face  and  voice ;  "  but,  dear  wil'e^ 
where  can  I  leave  you  ?  " 

"  How — do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  That  I  must  go  to  him  ;  but  I  am  such  a  stranger  now 
in  my  native  land  that  I  cannot  choose  for  you,  except  that 
— as  he  says — you  must  not  go  to  "Westleigh." 

Then  Hervey  came  to  the  rescue. 

"If  Mrs.  Myddelton  will  let  me  escort  her  to  London," 
he  said,  earnestly,  "  I  am  sure  I  could  not  take  back  to 
Honor  any  better  acknowledgment  of  her  message." 

"  ])o  you  think  so  ?  "  inquired  Gabriel,  eagerly.  "  You 
know  her  best,  do  you  really  think  so  ?  " 

"  1  am  sure,  very  sure,"  replied  Hervey,  promptly  ;  "  here 
is  Mr.  Romer  ;  ask  him,  for  he  knows  Honor  too." 

It  was  readily  settled,  and  Mr.  Romer  (who  had  invented 
business  in  Liverpool  most  of  that  day,  thinking  his  com- 
pany unneeded)  seconded  the  idea  so  warmly,  and  made  the 
arrangements  with  such  promptness,  that  the  plan  was 
carried  out  almost  as  soon  as  proposed.  Mr.  Romer  himself 
returned,  by  his  own  particular  wish,  to  Westleigh  Towers  ; 
and  though  Gabriel  fancied  he  went  as  guide  to  him,  the  real 
reason  was  the  rector's  earnest  desire  to  be  with  Royden  now. 

They  travelled  only  halfway  by  rail,  and  then,  fiudingno 
fast  train  would  take  them  on,  and  no  train  at  all  would 
stop  at  Westleigh  that  night,  they  posted  ;  and  having  four 
strong  horses  they  could  see  the  castellated  towers  of  Roy- 
den's  home  rise  before  them  in  the  melancholy  light  of  the 
July  midnight 

Just  at  that  hour  Gabriel's  wife  sat  with  Honor  Craven  in 
the  luxurious  little  dressing-room  which  (as  well  as  the 
chamber  beyond,  with  its  girlish  trifles  lying  about,  and  its 
soft  pink  hangings)  had  been  hastily  prepared  for  A  ice, 
and  tried  to  tell  her  the  story  of  her  life. 

"  I  can  tell  it  to  you,"  she  had  sobbed  in  her  fatigue  and 
helplessness,  when  she  had  rend  the  lovely  earnest  face  of 
this  new  cousin,  who  met  her  so  kindly  ar/d  made  her  sa 
wonder  {'nil  v  at  home,  "  I  wonder  why." 


OLD  MYDDELTON'3  MONET.  3<1? 

"  Because,"  said  Honor,  with  her  bright,  sweet  smile,  "  I 
am  the  nearest  relation  your  husband  has,  and  should  like 
lo  he  a  near  friend  of  yours." 

There  was  a  wonderful  contrast  between  the  two  girlg  at 
they  sat  together  before  the  pleasant  little  fire  which  Hono' 
hud  ordered  because  the  midnight  air  was  chill,  and  Alice 
(partly  in  fear,  and  partly  in  weakness)  had  been  shivering 
downstairs.  Not  in  the  features  alone  was  this  contrast 
evident,  but,  more  strongly  still,  in  the  natures  which  looked 
from  their  eyes  The  strength  and  steadfastness  of  the  one, 
the  perfect  oblivion  of  self  and  wide  thought  for  others,  and 
the  gentle  helpfulness,  no  less  than  the  rich  and  radiant 
beauty,  made  more  evident  the  nervous  timidity,  the  shy, 
mistrusting  reticence,  and  the  shrinking  from  responsibility, 
no  less  than  the  fair,  fragile  prettiness  of  the  other. 

"I  have  not  much  to  tell,  but  I  wish  I  could  tell  it 
better  What  he  has  done  for  Gabriel,  I  dare  not  speak  of ; 
Gabriel  must  tell  it  for  himself.  His  has  been  a  long,  long 
course  of  kindness,  which  he  has  practised  just  naturally,  as 
he  does  all  good  things.  Oh  !  if  I  could  only  tell  you  of 
these  kindnesses  for  me  and  for  Gabriel — if  I  only  could — 
but  I  cannot.  Miss  Craven,  what  have  I  said  to  bring  the 
tears  to  your  eyes  ?  It  was  in  Germany,  nearly  twelve 
years  ago — you  have  heard  of  tho  old  gentleman  who  left 
his  name  and  property  to  Mr.  Keith  ?  It  was  just  before 
that  time  that  I  met  him  first,  since  (seven  years  before) 
we  had  been  children  together,  and  near  neighbours  in  an 
English  county.  He  was  a  barrister,  though  he  was  not 
practising  just  then,  and  his  name  was  Royden  Sydney.  He 
went  to  America  after  that  on  the  same  vessel — he,  and  my 
father  and  I.  He  was  a  very  rich  man  then,  and  going  to 
the  New  World  for  pleasure.  On  that  voyage  " 

"  Do  not  tell  me  to-night,"  put  in  Honor,  with  a  gentle 
caress,  as  she  saw  the  tears  gather  in  Alice's  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  would  rather  tell,  please.  On  that  voyage  my 
father  died  quite  suddenly,  and  I  was  left  entirely  alone  in 
the  world,  for  I  had  no  other  relation — I  had  even  no 
friend .  What  a  friend  he  was  upon  that  voyage,  and  after- 
wards, I  never  could  tell  you.  His  care  and  friendship  did 
not  ( ease  when  we  had  landed,  and  it  was  only  through  hia 
help  (^exerted  in  so  many  ways)  that  I  obt-**ued  a  livelihood. 


848  OLD  JtrDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

for  my  father's  income  died  with  him,  and  I  was  almost 
pennile.iss.  One  day — I  remember  it  as  if  it  might  have 
been  to-day — there  appeared  at  the  house  of  the  gentleman 
whose  wife  had,  at  Mr.  Keith's  request,  taken  me  to  be  her 
companion,  a  young  man  who,  not  having  found  the  master 
at  the  office,  had  come  on  to  the  house,  and  been  admitted 
amongst  us  all.  That  very  evening  Mr.  Keith  (he  was  an 
honoured  guest  there)  had  returned  from  Peru,  and  he 
happered  to  be  with  us  when  this  young  man  entered.  I 
saw  him  watching  the  scene  keenly,  and  I  felt  that  what  he 
Baw  of  the  new-comer  he  liked  or  recognized.  The  merchant 
would  not  engage  a  clerk  who  came  with  no  testimonials 
and  no  recommendations,  unless  he  could  give  security  for 
two  hundred  pounds.  I  saw  the  quiet,  steady  look  deepen- 
ing in  Mr.  Keith's  eyes — it  was  so  sad  to  me  to  watch  the 
anxious  face  of  the  young  man  who,  though  evidently  an 
English  gentleman,  pleaded  so  urgently  for  this  situation, 
that  I  watched  Mr.  Keith  instead — then  presently  he  said 
he  would  pay  the  security  down,  and  Mr.  Hollys,  the  Boston 
merchant,  could  repay  it  to  his  clerk  when  he  dismissed 

him.    From  that  time  GaJbriel  and  I " 

"  I  understand,"  said  Honor,  softly,  when  ehe  paused. 
"And  we  married  soon,"  resumed  Alice,  wiping  away 
her  tears  hurriediy  ;  "  and  we  loved  each  other  dearly,  and 
were  very  happy,  though  our  lives  have  known  many  sor- 
rows, and  our  hearts  have  often  failed  and  fretted.  But 
the  greater  part  have  all  been  lightene  I  for  us  by  that  one 
kind  hand,  and  our  sorrow  often  turnei  to  joy  by  him. 
Oh  !  how  I  wish  that  I  could  tell  you  how." 

"  At  last,"  she  went  on  presently,  folding  her  weak 
hands  in  her  lap,  "  my  health  Jailed,  and  Gabriel's  heart 
ueemed  breaking,  because  they  told  him  that,  to  save  my 
life,  I  must  be  sent  home  to  England,  and  he  knew  he 
dared  not  come.  He  had  told  me  all  the  story  of  old  Mr. 
Myddelton's  murder,  and  of  the  trial,  every  word,  before 
he  won  my  promise  to  marry  him  ;  and  so,  of  course,  I 
knew  why  we  could  not  go,  for  neither  he  nor  I  had  any 
English  friends  ;  but  again  our  one  true  friend  came  to 
the  rescue,  and  he  brought  me  to  his  own  beautiful  home. 
That  was  two  years  a<ro,  and  I  have  been  getting  better 
and  stronger  ever  since.  .Now  that  Gabriel  has  come.  I 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  849 

know  that  I  shall  soon  be  quite  stroner  again.  I  found, 
one  day,  in  that  foreign  land,  an  old  friend  of  my  mother's, 
who,  through  loss  of  her  property  invested  in  mines,  wa? 
living  a  struggling  life  out  there  ;  and — quite  unthinl* 
iugly — I  told  Gabriel,  in  Mr.  Keith's  presence,  of  how  I 
had  traced  her.  Eoyden  remembered  this — as  he  remem- 
bers all  opportunities  for  kindiiess — and,  when  the  question 
arose  about  my  going  to  England,  and  he  said  he  was 
returning,  and  gave  me  that  offer  of  a  home,  he  begged 
that  she  should  come  too  ;  and — you  know  the  rest.  Our 
home  at  Westleigh — Miss  Henderson's  and  mint  -has  been 
a  peaceful  and  happy  one.  No  word  or  glance  haji  ever  told 
that  it  was  not  ours  equally  with  his  ;  and  for  those  two 
years  he  has  tried,  ah  !  so  earnestly  and  patiently,  to  clear 
Gabriel's  name,  that  my  husband  might  come  and  live 
again  in  his  native  country.  Gabriel  had  told  him  the 
whole  story  when  he  so  generously  offered  me  this  home  in 
England,  for  we  thought  it  might  make  him  retract  the  offer. 
Yet  how  could  we  ever  think  that  of  him  ?  It  only  made 
him  determine — for  he  never  doubted  Gabriel's  version  of 
the  story,  never — to  trace  out  the  real  murderer,  if  it  were 
in  man's  power  to  do  so.  You  know  that  he  has  succeeded, 
as  no  other  man  could  ;  for,  but  for  his  pity  and  his  help, 
Margaret  Territ  would  have  burnt  that  confession.  Oh  ! 
how  full  my  heart  is  when  I  B\t,ak  of  him,  and  what  can  I 
ever  do  in  return  ?  What  can  I  ever  do,  but  what  the 
very  smallest  child  he  helps  may  do  as  well — just  pray  my 
God  to  bless  him." 

Honor's  head  was  bowed  upon  her  hands,  and  it  was  no' 
until  Phoebe  tapped  gently  at  the  door  to  hasten  her,  thai 
she  raised  her  face  again ;  then  Alice  saw  the  marks  of 
tears,  and  wished  she  had  not  told  any  sad  tales  to-night. 

On  the  next  day  but  one  came  the  anxiously  expected 
letters,  one  from  Miss  Henderson,  and  one  from  Gabriel, 
both  short  and  very  sad. 

Miss  Henderson  told  of  the  fluctuating  nature  of  Royden'a 
fever,  of  the  skill  of  the  four  physicians,  of  the  calmness  of 
the  Sister  engaged  as  nurse,  and  of  the  unfeigned  sorrow  of 
the  servants  ;  finishing  with  the  hope  that  Alice  herself  was 
better,  the  letter  being  evidently  a  composition  studied, 
from  beginning  to  end,  to  k<:ep  up  her  spirits. 


850  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

But  Gabriel's  was  different.  He  told  of  the  violence  of 
the  fever,  the  awful  suffering,  and  the  intermittent  attacks 
of  delirium  ;  of  the  total  absence  of  all  rest  or  ease  ;  the 
discouraging  opinions  of  the  physicians  ;  the  dulness  of  the 
nurse,  and  the  awkwardness  of  which  he  himself  was  pain- 
fully conscious  in  his  own  attendance  beside  the  sick-bed. 

jUice  read  this  letter  aloud,  as  she  had  read  the  other  ; 
but  suddenly,  as  she  reached  the  end  of  the  sad  recital,  she 
made  an  abrupt  pause. 

"  I — I  think  I  will  not  read  the  rest,"  she  said,  in  her 
nervous,  frightened  way  ;  it  may  grieve  you,  Honor." 

Honor  gazed  at  her  in  mute  surprise. 

"  Grieve  me,"  she  echoed,  sadly.  "  Could  anything 
grieve  me  more  deeply  than  those  words  which  you  have 
just  read  ?" 

"  This  is  about  yourself — that  is  why  I  stopped,"  ex- 
plained Alice,  characteristically. 

"  Will  you — read  it,  please  ?  " 

"  You  are  sure  you  wish  it  ?  " 

"  Quite — quit^  sure." 

Alice  took  up  the  letter  again  and  read  ;  and  when  she 
had  finished,  Hon^r  answered,  "  Thank  you,"  very  softly, 
while  Alice  wondered  over  the  nature  she  could  not  under- 
stand ;  for  these  were  the  words  she  had  read — 

"  Chiefly,  in  all  1  is  delirium,  he  calls  one  name — Honor. 
Can  it  be  my  cousin  he  longs  to  see  ?  You  had  better  not 
tell  her,  perhaps,  as  it  is  very  sad  to  hear  it  ;  and  1  would 
rather  not  know  that  she  has  given  him  such  a  deep 
unhappiness  as  I  feel  him  to  be  suffering,  when  I  listen  t« 
the  toue  in  which  he  calls  her,  or  speaks  to  her.  It  makes 
this  bitter  watching  more  bitter  even  than  it  need  be  ;  and 
oh,  Alice,  I  feel  now  for  him — as  I  used  to  feel  for  myself 
— how  impossible  it  is  to  minister  to  a  mind  diseased.  '  Do 
not  tell  her,'  I  said — and  yet  I  leave  it  to  you.  You  will 
know  best." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  Honor  went  alone  into  the 
library,  where  Hervey  waited  to  hear  the  tidings  from 
Westleigh.  He  started  when  she  came  in,  for  she  might 
have  passed  through  a  long  illness  since  he  had  seen  her 
last  nierlif.  But  she  did  not  wait  for  him  to  question  her. 

"litncy,"  she  said,  "I— do  not  look  at  me  so ;  I  aas 


OLD  MTDDELTOK'S  MONET.  851 

well — I  only  want  to  speak  to  yon,  Hervey.  Phoebe  will 
tell  you  of  Gabriel's  letter  ;  I  will  send  her  to  you.  1  ain 
going  on  a  journey,  and  I  want  to  know  if  you  will  come 
with  me.  You  took  the  same  journey  for  me  once  before — 
for  me  then,  not  with  me.  Cousin  Hervey,  will  you  come 
with  me  now  to  Wcstleigh  Towers  ?  Can  you  come  at 
once — now,  please,  Hervey,  or  we  may  be — too  late." 
**  Honor,  dear  Honor,  I  am  ready." 


CHAPTER    XL. 

My  shadow  falls  upon  my  grave, 
So  near  the  brink  I  stand. 

Hooo. 

WHILE  Phoebe  was  still  telling  Captain  Trent  of  Gabriel's 
letter,  Honor  re-entered  the  room,  her  hat  tilted  low  over 
t-r  tell-tale  eyes. 

"  Take  care  of  Gabriel's  wife,"  she  whispered,  her  pulses 
quickening  as  the  carriage  rolled  past  the  window  near 
which  they  stood,  and  the  restive  horses  were  pulled  up 
before  the  door. 

"  I  wish  I  had  ascertained  about  the  trains,"  fretted 
Hervey,  as  he  followed  the  girls  into  the  hall,  "  If  there 
are  none  beyond  Langham,  I  don't  know  what  we  shall  do." 

"I  have  sent  a  groom  on  horseback,"  said  Honor, 
quietly,  "  and  he  is  to  telegraph  on  for  pose  horses.  Good- 
bye, dear  little  Frau  ?  " 

Yet  for  all  her  quietness,  Hervey  felt  her  hand  tremble 
on  his  arm,  when  he  led  her  out  to  the  carriage,  and  through 
the  whole  journey,  though  she  sat  so  still  and  patiently,  the 
restlessness  and  anxiety  within  her  eyes  were  pitiful  to  see. 
And  beyond  this,  there  was  another  misery  which  Hervey 
little  guessed  of.  The  consciousness  of  what  might  have 
been,  if  she  had  doubted  then,  as  she  had  doubted  now,  those 
words  which  Theodora  Trent  had  represented  as  Hoyden's. 
Doubted!  Ah  !  no,  she  had  never  doubted,  even  then. 

"  I — I  must  have  hated  myself,"  she  thought,  "  if  I  could 
hrve  believed  him  to  have  said  them — even  then.  But  he 


/f>2  OLD   MYDDKhTuS'S   MONET. 

took  me  by  surprise.     She  had  only  just  told  me,  and — not 
as  if  the  words  were — a  falsehood." 

By  Honor's  wish,  the  chaise  was  stopped  at  the  park  gates 
of  Westleigh  Towers,  and  she  and  Hervey  descended.  A 
little  crowd  had  collected  at  the  door  of  the  lodge  ;  women 
who  had  run  from  their  cottages  to  hear  the  latest  tidings  ; 
fishermen  who  had  walked  straight  up  from  the  beach  to 
hear  of  the  master  before  they  entered  their  own  homes  ; 
men  and  women  who  had  walked  from  the  mills  to-day 
round  the  high-road,  on  purpose  to  hear  what  might  be 
learnt  from  the  physicians,  as  they  drove  through  these 
western  gates  back  to  the  station  ;  a  homely  throng,  which 
drew  back  when  the  foaming  post-horses  stopped  at  the 
gate,  and — in  spite  of  the  anxiety  upon  their  faces — never 
obtruded  an  inquisitive  word  or  glance.  Honor's  sad  eyes 
rested  on  them  for  a  minute,  then  she  moved  on  with  a 
hurried  start,  for  she  dared  not  trust  herself  to  hear  the 
words  which  they  might  say. 

"  Hervey,"  she  said,  glancing  up  at  the  castellated  towers 
as  they  neared  the  house,  "  how  silent  it  is  !  " 

"  Oh  !  that's  nothing,"  asserted  Hervey,  promptly.  "  Of 
course  there's  no  band  playing,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  My 
dear  Honor,  what  sound  would  you  have  ? " 

"  It  was  so  different  when  I  was  here  before." 

u  Of  course,  because  the  house  was  full  of  guests." 

"  But  even  the  dogs  are  gone  ! " 

"Yes,  strange  to  say,"  returned  Hervey,  making  an  effort 
to  speak  with  a  great  deal  of  ease  and  unconcern,  "  they 
persist  in  standing  or  lying  about  the  hall  in  a  manner 
ridiculously  abject.  As  if  they  need  conspire  to  make  things 
more  dismal  than  they  are !  It  is  a  mistake  to  cultivate  dogs." 

Hoyden's  grave  old  butler  showed  no  surprise  when  he 
admitted  the  beautiful  young  lady,  for  whose  coming  no 
preparation  had  been  made,  but  he  was  conscious  of  a  great 
astonishment  filling  his  mind,  when  he  noticed  how  softly 
and  quietly  she  entered  the  sick-house,  and  how,  as  she 
followed  him  across  the  hall,  she  stopped  to  speak  by  name 
to  one  of  Roy  den's  dogs,  and  to  lay  her  hand  caressingly 
upon  his  drooping  head.  "  She,  too,"  thought  the  old  man, 
with  a  glance  into  her  anxiou-s  face,  "  is  distressed  about  the 
master."  He  was  standing  then  beside  the  door  to  which 


OLD  MYDDEI/TON'S  MONEY.  353 

he  had  led  her,  but  just  at  that  moment  Mr.  Keith's  valet 
happened  to  cross  the  hall,  and  Honor,  who  knew  him  well, 
paused,  her  eyes  full  of  mute  and  anxious  questioning.  But 
Pierce,  with  only  a  silent  bow,  passed  on.  How  could  he 
stop  there  in  the  full  light — he,  a  man  of  middle  age — with 
his  eyes  full  of  tears? 

"  Hervey,"  whispered  Honor,  when  the  cousins  were  left 
alone  in  the  long  drawing-room,  "  I  saw  a  Sister  of  Mercy 
on  the  stairs,  and  she — she  had  no  hope  in  her  face." 

"  They  never  have,"  asserted  Hervey,  glibly,  "  never,  my 
dear.  They  wouldn't  be  proper  Sisters  if  they  had." 

Miss  Henderson  answered  immediately  the  note  from 
Alice  Myddelton,  which  was  given  her  with  Honor's  card, 
and  she  came  in  to  greet  Miss  Craven  with  the  most  strong- 
minded  determination  to  give  cheerful  impressions  generally, 
and  to  report,  with  particular  cheerfulness,  of  Royden.  But 
Miss  Henderson  was  not  by  any  means  a  strong-minded 
person,  her  heart  being  some  hundreds  of  years  from  its 
fossil  condition  ;  and  so  it  happened  that  the  moment  she 
met  Honor's  eyes  she  broke  down  ignominiously,  and  cried 
like  a  child.  And  Honor,  holding  both  her  hands,  and 
kissing  her  now  and  then  in  her  gentle,  pitiful  way,  cried 
with  her,  while  Hervey  kept  his  face  turned  to  the  window. 

But  Miss  Henderson  had  not  come  then  from  the  sick- 
room, and  she  herself  was  waiting  anxiously  for  tidings. 

"  The  physicians  are  in  consultation,"  she  said,  "  and  only 
the  nurse  in  attendance — of  course  with  Mr.  Myddelton. 
Pierce  sent  to  London  for  Sir  Edward  Graham  yesterday, 
and  he  is  here  to-day  too,  and  brought  another  physician 
with  him.  Pierce  says  Mr.  Keith  knew  Sir  Edw;ird  very 
well,  and  often  visited  him  in  London.  Dr.  Franklin,  of 
Westleigh,  has  been  here  ever  since  the  first  alarm.  But 
they  all  say  the  same  thing,"  sobbed  Miss  Henderson,  again 
forgetting  her  determination,  "  that  there  is  imminent 
danger  in  these  restless  attacks  of  fever  alternating  with 
inch  death-like  exhaustion.  I,  through  all  those  three  or 
four  weeks  before  the  fever  asserted  itself,  was  haunted 
by  a  fear  of  what  was  coming.  He  said  it  was  weariness 
— headache  ;  he  said  sometimes  that  it  was  nothing.  But 
I  knew  he  could  not  look  no  unless — something  else  was 


854  OLD  MTDDELTON'S   MONEY. 

]t  was  just  at  this  moment  that  the  room  door  was 
opened,  and  Honor,  turning  her  eyes  to  see,  started  to  her 
feet  with  a  cry  which  sounded  almost  glad. 

"  Gabriel  !  " 

He,  too,  had  recognised  her  in  that  moment,  and  the 
cousins  met  with  both  hands  extended,  while  for  that 
moment  there  was  a  smile  on  each  of  their  faces. 

"  Honor,"  said  Gabriel,  very  quietly,  "  of  course  I  knew 
you,  Honor." 

She  told  him  how  she  had  longed  to  see  him,  and  how 
glad  she  was  that  he  had  come  home,  though 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  finishing  the  sentence  for  her,  sadly. 
"  Though  it  was  so  good  to  come  home,  this  has  turned  the 
pleasure  into  pain." 

Then  he  tried  to  change  his  tone  again,  and  tell  her  he 
had  recognised  her  in  a  moment  from  what  Eoyden  had 
written  of  her,  and  how  he  thanked  her  for  her  trust  in  las 
innocence,  of  which  Royden  had  told  him  too.  Bkit  her 
thoughts  would  scarcely  follow  these  words,  and  he  knew  it. 

"I  am  to  await  the  physicians  here,"  he  said,  only 
glancing  at  his  wife's  letter,  when  Hervey  gave  it  to  him, 
but  putting  it  carefully  into  his  pocket-book. 

"  She  is  well,"  said  Hono'1,  gently,  "  only  so  very  anxious." 

"  She  knows,"  he  said,  "  that  we  are  only  watching  here 
to  see  him — die  !  " 

"  God  is  so  good  !  "  breathed  Honor,  softly. 

"  Mr.  Myddelton,"  put  in  Miss  Henderson,  "  with  a  little 
sternness  in  her  tone,  "  you  always  fear  the  worst — the  very 
worst." 

"  How  can  I  help  fearing,"  questioned  Gabriel,  betraying 
the  timidity  which  had  been  so  fatal  to  him  years  ago, 
"  when  I  think  what  he  has  been  to  me  and  to  my  wife,  and. 
how  powerless  I  am  now  to  help  or  give  him  ease." 

"  Is  he  always  unconscious  ?  "  asked  Hervey. 

"Always  ;  as  far  as  we  can  judge.  He  sometimes  seeing 
to  wake  to  a  little  quickened  intelligence,  but  it  is  only  to 
fall  back  into  the  old  vajue  or  fevered  wandering.  Mist 
Henderson  is  right,  I  do  fear  the  vftry  worst.  All  my  old 
nervousness  and  mistrust  come  back  to  me  in  the  presence 
of  this  anguish.  Yet  I  had  fancied  that  these  long  twelve 
years,  and  his  help,  and  his  example,  had  made  me  stronger 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  sr»5 

and  more  trustful.     Honor,  has  Alice  told  j  ou  what  he  has 
been  to  us  ?  " 

"  To  her,"  said  Honor,  every  word  an  effort  to  her.  "  She 
said  you  would  tell  me  more — some  day." 

"  Let  me  tell  you  now,  while  we  can  do  nothing  but  wait 
here.  There  may  come  a  time  when  I  dare  not  speak  of 
it ;  when  it  will  break  my  heart  to  recall,  in  words,  his 
prompt,  unquestioning  trust  in  my  innocence  of  that  crime 
which  banished  me  ;  his  patient  efforts  to  clear  my  name, 
and  make  it  possible  for  me  to  come  home  ;  his  manlike 
forbearance  when  suspicion  rested  basely  even  on  himself; 
his  true,  earnest  help,  through  these  twelve  years;  and, 
abo^e  all,  that  simple,  generous  kindliness  of  hi?,  which  was 
.the  cause,  at  last — as  nothing  else  on  earth  could  have  been 
• — of  my  innocence  being  proved.  Honor,  I  can  only  tell 
you  now  the  story  of  our  first  meeting,  but  even  that  will 
tell  you  much  I  dare  not  speak  of.  You  have  heard  of  my 
escape  from  prison,  and  the  rumour  (which  was  true)  that 
I  sailed  from  England  to  America  in  an  emigrant  vessel. 
My  steerage  passage  was  taken  for  me  by  the  man  whom 
Territ  employed  to  see  me  on  board,  and  then  I  had  just 
five  shillings  in  my  pocket,  which  I  slipped  into  his  hand  in 
gratitude  when  we  parted.  Neither  my  watch  nor  my  ring 
could  I  venture  to  sell,  because  the  Mydtlelton  crest  upon 
them  might  have  led  to  my  capture.  I  had  left  them  in 
Margaret  Turrit's  care  on  the  night  1  had  changed  my  coat 
at  her  cottage,  but  she  had  given  them  back  to  me  on  my 
escape  from  the  jail.  She  had  offered  me  money — all  she 
had — but  that  of  course  I  would  not  touch.  Even  in 
America,  and  even  to  keep  myself  from  destitution,  I  felt  I 
never  should  dare  to  part  with  my  wutch  and  ring,  such  a 
terror  of  detection  was  upon  me  ever. 

"  That  was  a  miserable  voyage,  even  beyond  the  misery  of 
dwelling  on  the  injustice  which  had  forced  me  to  this  fliglic. 
Of  course  I  naturally  shrank  from  all  companionship  wiUi 
those  about  me,  but  I  knew  I  should  equally  have  done  sc 
if  they  had  been  of  my  own  grade.  What  fellowship  had 
I  now  with  any  man  on  earth  ?  The  poor  wretches  around 
me,  huddling  together  in  poverty  and  uncleanliness,  ha<? 
more  companionship  with  one  another  than  I  had  with  any- 
one  under  that  wide  stretch  of  sky,  which  was  all  1  cared  to 


356  OLD   MYDDELTON:S  MONET. 

look  upon;  fur  could  I  regret  the  shore  I  left  behind,  cr 
build  one  hope  upon  the  shore  I  was  to  reach  ?  I  know 
now  how  different  it  might  have  been,  even  in  that  voyage  ; 
l«nt  it  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  time  of  aLUte  and  morbid 
Buffering  to  me. 

"  One  gentleman  among  the  cabin  passengers  often  spoke 
to  me  when  I  was  on  deck,  often  spoke,  indeed,  to  many  of 
us.  Of  all  the  state  passengers,  he  was  the  only  one  who 
cuuld  spare  one  of  those  idle  hours  on  board  fur  such  as  I, 
or  who  had  a  cheery  word  to  give  us  in  our  seeming  rough- 
ness, or  helplessness,  or  squalor.  As  good  to  me  were 
these  hours  he  gave  me  as  was  the  first  glimpse  of  the  old 
country's  shoies  a  week  ago — better,  because  sometimes,  in 
the  quiet  starlight,  or  the  sunset  time,  he  would  talk  of 
another  shore  which  was  more  surely  home. 

"  When  we  landed  at  Levi  Point,  and  I  stood  alone  on 
rihore  among  the  luggage — scarcely  one  article  of  which 
belonged  to  myself — hopeless  and  spiritless,  and  weighed 
down  with  that  sense  of  utter  loneliness  which  I  knew  must 
be  my  doom  for  ever,  this  gentleman  came  up  to  me.  His 
first- ciass  ticket  was  for  Boston,  he  said,  and  as  he  was  not 
going  so  far,  he  would  like  me  to  take  it,  because  he  knew 
the  third-class  emigrant  trains  were  often  a  week  upon  the 
road.  For  one  minute  I  morbidly  resented  his  cognizance 
of  THV  poverty,  but  in  the  next  I  humbly  and  gratefully 
accepted  his  gift,  knowing  I  could  not  have  provided  my- 
Beif  even  with  dry  bread  through  that  week  of  travelling. 

When  we  stopped  at  Richmond,  he  sought  me  out 
again,  and — in  spite  of  my  workman's  dress  and  sullen 
humour — took  me  to  dine,  and  talked  with  me  as  with  an 
equal  (yet  as  no  one  had  ever  talked  to  me  before)  while 
we  walked  back  to  the  station  at  nightfall.  The  third- 
class  train  was  just  coming  m  when  we  reached  the  station, 
and  I  remember  well  how,  for  a  few  minutes,  he  stood  back, 
and,  rather  sadly  and  intently,  watched  the  passengers  as 
they  crowded  out  from  the  platform.  Then  he  left  me, 
and  moving  quietly  and  easily  among  these  poor  tired 
creatures,  he  seemed  to  give  help  or  encouragement  to  all, 
as — God  bless  him ! — I  believe  it  is  natural  to  him  to  do\ 
Honor,  I  remember  once,  when  he  had  managed  to  get  tea 
for  a  forlorn  little  crowd  innu\  who,  like  ujv.-,tlf,  had  uot  « 


OLD  MYDDKLTON'S  MONEY.  357 

penny  in  their  pockets,  and  women  and  children  who  had  not 
tasted  food  for  four-and-twenty  hours,  because — like  myself, 
too — they  had  not  thought  to  store  for  after-use  any  of 
their  last  meals  on  board),  I  saw  them  actually  crying  over 
him,  and  touching  him  with  a  reverence  which,  in  that 
time  and  place,  was  terribly  pathetic.  Could  1  be 
ashamed  if  I,  too,  were  as  foolish  ? 

"  lie  left  the  cars  at  the  last  station  before  Boston,  and 
when  he  took  my  hand  and  bade  me  God  speed,  I  could 
not  answer  him  a  single  word,  because  I  felt  that  our  paths 
in  life  could  never  cross  again.  But  I  was  to  meet  him 
once  more  in  a  week's  time.  Can  I  ever  forget  that  firs 
week  in  Boston  ?  Each  day  was  worse  to  me,  I  think,  than 
those  I  had  passed  in  the  condemned  cell,  under  sentence 
of  death.  Every  hour  of  daylight  I  spent  in  my  pursuit  of 
work,  toiling  along  every  street  of  the  great  city,  and  call- 
ing in  at  every  office  and  every  store.  I  had  no  need  of 
guide  or  directory,  for  I  would  call  everywhere  /  I  would  not 
raiss  si  single  door  until  I  either  found  employment  or  fell 
by  the  way. 

"  Those  were  days  of  literal  starvation,  Honor ;  and 
when  the  darkness  stopped  me  in  my  search,  I  could  only 
creep  into  a  police-cell,  and,  with  a  tin  of  water  for  my 
supper,  lay  myself  down  upon  a  board  and  try  to  sleep  so  ; 
while  other  men  lay  near  me,  poor  and  homeless  as  myself. 

"  Sometimes,  with  a  faint  chance  of  success,  I  was  sent 
from  one  store  to  another  at  a  distance,  but  always — after 
the  vain  effort — I  came  back  to  the  same  spot,  and  went 
on  from  door  to  door,  never  missing  one,  and  often  tempted, 
instead  of  my  vain  request  for  work,  to  cry  for  a  mouthful 
of  food.  And  often  1  was  hurried  back  into  the  street  with 
suspicion,  because  so  hungrily  I  had  been  watching  the 
dollars  changing  hands  in  the  stores. 

"  Sometimes  I  met  with  men  as  weak  and  poor  and  hope- 
less as  myself,  who  had  come  from  the  old  country  with  a 
store  of  energy  and  money  too,  but  had  sunk  until  they 
were  what  I  saw  them,  deep  in  poverty  and  gloom.  And 
aomelimes  I  saw  men  rich  and  prosperous,  and  was  told 
that  they  had  worked  their  own  way  up,  without  the  aid  of 
capital  or  friends. 

"  Sometimes  I  mei  with  one   of  those  who  had  sailed" 

A  A 


*58  OLD 

witli  mo,  and  he  would  tell  me,  perhaps,  of  his  bitter  home- 
3ickness,  wondering  that  I  did  not  own  to  that ;  wondering, 
above  all,  why  I  should  hurry  past  the  post-office,  when? 
iny  own  countrymen,  in  crowds,  waited  eagerly  for  news  of 
home.  It  is  a  sad  tale  to  tell  you,  Honor,  at  this  gad 
time,  but  it  will  soon  be  over  now. 

"  A  week  of  this  ceaseless  work  went  past,  and  I  was 
gaunt  and  hollow-cheeked ;  ill  with  almost  constant  ai_rue, 
and  having  the  appearance,  as  I  knew  quite  well,  of  being 
only  half-witted,  in  my  nervous  attempts  to  conceal  the  face 
that  I  was  almost  barefoot.  At  last,  one  day,  came  a  change 
of  thought  and  plan  which  saved  me. 

"  I  was  standing  just  within  the  door  of  a  printer's  office, 
waiting  for  an  opportunity  of  asking  whether  they  would 
engage  me  on  what  terms  they  chose,  and  leaning  against 
the  packets  of  paper,  ill,  footsore,  and  famished,  when  a 
sound,  which  had  seemed  to  me  the  surging  of  waters  about 
my  head,  grew  first  into  raised,  distinct  tones,  then  into 
phrases  which  I  could  follow. 

"Two  men  were  comparing  their  early  struggles  for  a 
livelihood,  and  recalling  how  one  turning-point  had  brought 
them  each  success  at  last.  In  ray  weakness,  and  with  that 
surging  pain  in  my  head,  I  could  not  follow  the  words  quite 
distinctly,  yet  this  one  thing  I  understood — my  only  chance 
of  obtaining  employment  was  to  seek  it  as  a  gentleman 
(what  a  mockery  it  was  to  recall  my  old  life  now !),  and  as 
if  employment  were  of  little  value  to  me. 

"  I  knew  what  the  men  meant,  and  I  crept  from  the 
store,  and  tried  to  rouse  my  failing  energies  10  think  out 
this  thought,  and  face  my  possibility  of  success.  I  vat 
successful,  Honor  ;  not  because  these  men  were  right  iu 
their  random  assertion,  and  not  because  I  acted  my  now 
part  well,  but  because  on  that  day  Heaven  was  so  merciful 
IB  to  guide  me  to  the  one  who  had  helped  and  befriended 
fie  before. 

"  It  was  my  last  desperate  chance,  and  of  course  I  was 
willing  to  stake  upon  it  the  little  I  possessed.  I  even  dared 
the  possibility  of  being  traced,  for — if  it  failed — what  was 
my  freedom  worth  ? 

"  Tn  return  for  my  watch  and  ring  I  obtained  a  pnif  of 
clothes  m  which  I  might  "begin  my  new  search  at  0  gentle* 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  35$ 

man.  It  never  entered  my  head  to  doubt  its  being  worth 
what  I  paid  for  it,  and  I  was  truly  grateful  to  the  man  who 
equipped  me.  When  he  asked  me  to  accept  a  shilling  for 
my  dinner,  and,  following  me  to  the  door,  said  kindly 
that  he  should  be  very  glad  to  hear  of  my  luck,  I  felt 
—in  my  new-born  hope — that  I  could  hardly  thauk  hiir 
enough. 

"If  Alice  told  you  of  our  first  meeting,  Honor,  you  know 
the  rest  of  my  story.  From  the  office  of  a  rich  stock- 
broker, to  whom  that  very  day  I  applied  for  an  engagement, 
I  was  sent  on  to  his  private  residence.  It  was  the  house  in 
which  Alice  lived  as  governess,  and  Royden  Keith  was 
visiting  there  that  very  day.  The  master  of  the  house 
heard  all  I  hud  to  say,  but  told  me  decisively  then  that  he 
could  engage  no  man  for  a  post  of  trust  without  securities. 
He  told  me  afterwards  thai  he  said  it  chiefly  to  get  rid  of 
rne,  thinking  me  sickly,  and  unpleasantly  persistent.  Some- 
how just  then  Mr.  Keith  seemed  to  take  the  arrangement  of 
the  matter  quietly  into  his  own  hands,  and  I  was  engaged. 
Ah,  what  a  night  of  gratitude  and  hope  that  was,  and  with 
what  joy  I  walked  two  miles  next  morning  at  daybreak,  to 
tell  the  tailor  of  my  success  ! 

"  When  I  had  been  in  that  office  only  one  year,  Honor,  I 
had  won  my  employer's  confidence,  and  the  money  was 
repaid  to  Royden  Keith  which  he  had  advanced  for  me. 
Two  years  afterwards,  Alice  and  I  were  married,  and  for  a 
wedding  gift  my  employer  gave  me  the  share  in  his  business 
which  it  had  been  my  ambition  some  day  to  buy.  Soon 
ai'i  erwards  he  died,  aud  when  news  came  to  me,  three  week? 
ago,  that  I  might  come  home,  I  was  able  to  sell  the  business 
to  my  junior  partner,  and  bring  home  an  income  sufficient 
for  our  wants. 

"  Honor,  you  see  that  it  is  not  only  my  liberty  I  owe  to 
Roydeu  Keith,  but  all  that  1  possess,  and — even  nay  life,  1 
think." 

Honor's  eyes  were  covered  with  her  hand  ;  Hervey  had 
walked  away  again  to  the  window,  and  there  was  utter 
silence  in  the  room  when  Gabriel's  voice  ceased.  But 
luddenly  Honor  rose,  her  whole  form  trembling,  for  her 
risteuing  ears  had  caught  the  physicians'  steps. 

They  all  three  came  quietly  into  the  room,  t.vo  irenilmnen 


SCO  OLD  HYDDELTON'S  MOXET. 

with  white  hair  and  giave,  thoughtful  faces,  and  one  with 
young  but  careworn  features,  and  an  unconquerable  ner- 
vousness, which  yet  betrayed  no  want  of  skill  or  decision. 
This  was  Dr.  Franklin,  of  Westleigh,  and  in  a  moment  he 
recognised  Honor,  whom  he  had  often  met  at  Station 
Rectory.  When  he  had  spoken  to  her,  and  was  about  to 
return  to  the  sick-room  with  Gabriel,  one  of  the  elder 
physicians  came  forward,  making  his  shrewd  guess  with 
promptness. 

"  Miss  Honor  Craven,"  he  said,  as  if  he  felt  that  in  such 
a  scene  as  this  there  was  no  need  of  form,  "  I  could 
hardly  be  a  London  man  and  not  know  you  by  sight  and 
name.  Will  you  pardon  my  bluntness  if  I  ask  you  one 
question  ?  " 

She  offered  him  her  hand  with  a  faint  little  smile,  and 
while  he  spoke  he  kept  it  in  his  own. 

"  Our  patient,  in  his  delirium,  calls  one  name  persistently, 
not  consciously,  nor  with  any  knowledge  that  he  c;il's  it, 
but  still  at  any  moment  it  might  be  that  he  knew  her.  It 
is  Honor.  Is  she  here  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

The  girl's  answer  was  a  very  whisper,  but  the  old  physician 
heard  it. 

"  I  see.  And  are  you  prepared  to  witness  his  acute  and 
restless  suffering  ?  Should  you  be  afraid  to  see  the  frequeiit 
changes  of  strife  and  exhaustion  ?  Think  well  before  you 
speak,  for  your  presence  must  either  do  great  good  or  serious 
harm." 

"  You  will  be  unwise  to  permit  it,  Sir  Edward,"  put  in 
the  other  London  physician  ;  "  it  is  not  a  post  for  her.  It 
is  not  a  sight  for  one  who  has  never  seen  life  hanging  by  a 
thread." 

"  I  have  great  confidence,"  rejoined  Sir  Edward,  with  a 
sign  for  his  silence,  "  in  a  naturally  fine  and  unimpaired 
constitution.  If  he  can  only  have  a  little  sleep  " 

"  If  I  may  go,"  said  Honor,  raising  her  eyes  to  Sir 
Edward,  who  read  their  bravery  and  patience  through  their 
yearning,  "  I  will  do  exactly  what  you  bid  me.  I  can  be 
very  still  and  silent,  and  I  am  very  wakeful.  I  am  used  to 
sickness  ;  I  am  used,  even,  to— death.  Please  to  ieei  how 
Bteudy  uiy  hand  is." 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  861 

It  was  not  Hervey  only  who  turned  away  his  eyes,  as  if 
the  pathos  of  her  low  words  hurt  him. 

"  Can  you  rest  first  ?  "  Sir  Edward  asked,  presently.  "  It 
would  fit  you  a  little  better  for  your  watch." 

"  The  only  rest  that  I  can  know,"  she  said,  "  will  be  to 
watch  him." 

"  That  is  well,"  put  in  the  strange  physician,  in  a  tone  of 
relief,  as,  for  the  first  time,  he  removed  his  critical  gaze 
from  her  face,  "it  will  be  well,  Graham  ;  let  Miss  Craven 
go.  For  her  it  is  kinder  to  consent  than  to  pretend  to  spare 
her  ;  and  for  him — we  shall  see." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  with  touching  simplicity.  "I 
will  do  exactly  as  you  bid  me.  Hervey,"  she  added,  la\  ing 
both  her  hands  upon  her  cousin's,  "  you  will  tell  them  the 
doctors  let  me  stay  ?  Give  them  my  love,  and — take  care 
of  them.  Good-bye." 

"I  think,"  remarked  Sir  Edward,  aside  to  his  friend, 
u  that  we  shall  not  regret  this  step." 

With  Honor's  parting  words,  and  Gabriel's  message  to 
his  wife,  and  Miss  Henderson's  tearful  assurance  that  she 
would  not  Jet  Miss  Craven  over-fatigue  herself,  and  Sir 
Edward  Graham's  remark  that  Honor's  presence  was  hia 
strongest  source  of  hope  for  his  patient,  Hervey  left  West- 
leigh  Towers  that  evening. 

"  I  cannot  wait  to  see  you  after  you  have  been — to  him, 
Honor,"  he  said  ;  "  if  it  is  as  Dr.  Franklin  and  Gabriel 
fear,  I — dare  not." 

So  he  went,  as  Honor  followed  Sir  Edward  Graham  to 
Boyden's  chamber. 


302  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MuNET. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

Friendship  often  ends  in  Love,  but 
Love  in  Friendship — never. 

COLTOW. 

PHCEBE  OWEN  had  had  an  invitation  for  that  night,  which, 
A  little  time  before,  it  would  have  cost  her  a  bitter  pang  to 
refuse  ;  yet  she  hovered  kindly  and  cheerfully  now  about 
Alice  Myddelton,  and  entertained  her  pleasantly  witl, 
desultory  chat,  which,  though  it  might  not  be  of  a  deep 
or  original  character,  was  yet  varied  withal,  and  sufficiently 
enlivening  to  make  these  waiting  hours  pass  easily  for 
Alice. 

Yet  Phoebe  was,  all  the  time,  listening  anxiously  for  the 
pound  of  wheels,  or  the  visitors'  bell,  or  the  bharp,  double 
I  aj>  of  a  telegraph  messenger.  And  when,  at  last,  a  cab 
stopped,  and  a  familiar  step  ascended  the  stairs,  it  was 
Phoebe  who  sprang  first  to  her  feet,  and  it  was  Phoebe's 
eairer  voice  which  uttered  the  first  greeting  and  question. 

"  Oh,  Hervey,  we  are  so  glad  to  see  you  !  Where  is 
Honor  ?  How  is  Mr.  Keith  ?  " 

"  No  better,"  he  answered,  as  he  took  her  hand. 

"  No  better,"  she  echoed,  mournfully.  "  Oh  Alice,  think 
of  that,  alter  our  long  waiting  !  " 

But  Alice  had  hidden  her  face,  and  was  crying  bitterly; 
so  Phoebe's  energies  were  immediately  devoted  to  soothing 
and  cheering  her  ;  and  Hervey  (totally  at  a  loss  himself 
lelt  little  inclination  to  treat  her  excitement  with  his  old 
languid  contempt. 

To  his  great  relief  dinner  was  sorn  announced,  and 
Phoebe  turned  to  him  with  a  simple,  but  to  him  rather 
comical,  assumption  of  the  matronly  hostts*. 

"  Will  you  take  Mrs.  Myddelton,  Hervey,  and  I  will 
follow  ?  " 

Of  course  he  offered  her  his  other  arm,  but  she  refused 
it,  with  a  remembrance  of  his  old  prejudice,  and  walked 
demurely  behind  them,  with  no  anxiety. about  a  cover  not 
g  laid  for  Hervey,  so  long  as  any  one  of  Honor's  ser- 
knew  that,  he  was  iu  the  house. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  363 

To  each  one  of  the  little  party  the  presence  of  the  ser- 
vants during  the  next  hour  was  art  lief.  The  restraint 
and  the  necessity  for  trivial  t-ubjects  of  conversation  were 
a  preparation  for  what  there  was  to  tell  and  to  hear, 
and  a  pause  of  rest  between  the  old  suspense  and  the  new 
certainty. 

Hervey  did  his  best  to  make  the  meal  a  pleasant  one ; 
and  Phoebe,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  did  her  best  to  take 
Honor's  place  ;  while  the  ease  of  both  her  guests,  and  the 
active  courtesy  of  one,  proved  that  she  had  to  a  certain 
extent  succeeded.  Yet  could  they  not  shake  off  the  vague 
shadow  of  fear  which  brooded  among  them. 

"  May  I  come  ?  "  inquired  Ilervey,  as  Phoebe  and  Alice 
passed  him  at  the  door.  "  I  have  no  wish  to  stay — if  I  shall 
not  intrude." 

They  nodded  with  a  smile,  and  he  followed  them  to  the 
drawing-room,  for  he  was,  in  reality,  anxious  to  get  their 
questions  all  answered,  and  his  messages  delivered. 

"  Had  Gabriel  no  hope,  Captain  Trent  ?  "  inquired  Alice, 
without  introduction,  as  she  stood  beside  the  window,  her 
liantls  locked  before  her. 

"It  is  a  very  hopeless  household  just  at  present,"  he 
answered,  sadly ;  "  but  Honor  said  I  must  tell  yon 
thtt  Sir  Edward  Graham  has  great  confidence  in  Mi 
Keith's  fine  and  unimpaired  constitution,  and  thinks  if  he 
can  sleep  it  may  be  all  right.  I  fear  the  other  doctors  do 
not  agree  with  him  ;  but  still  Honor  told  me  to  tell  you 
that ;  and — and  she  asked  me  to  remind  you  that  the  issue 
is  in  Kinder  Hands  than  any  of  ours,  and  that  if — it  is  » 
life  worih  pra\ing  for,"  concluded  Hervey,  brokenly. 

"  Had  Honor  seen  him  ?  "  asked  Phoebe,  pre-ently. 

"  Not  before  I  left.  I  would  not  wait  to  see  her  after- 
ward?, if  I  could  have  done  so,  because  Miss  Henderson 
told  me  that  if  she  lov — if  she  felt  for  him,  the  sight  of  his 
suffering  would  be  like  death  to  her.  I'm  sure  it  seemed  to 
have  had  almost  that  effect  upon  your  husband,  Mrs. 
Myddelton.  Now  mny  I  try  to  give  you  his  long  messnge  ?  " 

".Phoebe!"  cried  Alice,  as  Phoebe  moved  towards  the 
dnor  at  these  words,  "  please  do  not  go.  My  husband's  is 
no  secret  message.'' 

Phoebe  stopped  and  turned,  blushing  as  she  met  ITcrvey's 


864  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONTTT. 

gaze,  for  it  betrayed  both  his  appreciation  of  her  thought- 
fulness  and  his  pleasure  at  her  return  to  the  gruiip. 

The  message  was  soon  given  ;  and  then,  in  softened 
roices,  as  they  lingered  together,  they  talked  still  of  Royden. 
But  after  the  subject  had  been  broken  by  the  entrance  01 
the  servants  with  coffee,  they  each  avoided — perhaps  in 
thoughtfulness  for  the  others — a  recurrence  to  it 

"  Hervey,"  said  Phoebe,  very  much  appreciating  her  novel 
position  of  the  most  useful  and  important  member  of 
the  party,  "  were  you  not  surprised  when  you  heard  that 
Lawrence  Haughton  had  gone  abroad  ?  " 

"  Not  so  much  surprised  as  I  was  when  I  called  for  my 
letters  a  few  hours  ago,  to  find  that  Theo  and  her  mother  go 
abroad  to-morrow.  My  aunt  sends  me  the  information  in 
time  for  me  to  call — if  I  choose." 

"And  you  will  ?"  questioned  Phoebe,  with  a  quick  and 
inexplicable  blush. 

"Not  I." 

"  Can  you  picture  Jane  alone  at  The  Larches  ?  "  she 
asked,  with  a  perceptible  lightening  of  her  tone  "  Honor 
is  going  to  ask  her  to  Abbotsmoor,  though  she  has  so  many 
tunes  refused  to  come  here." 

"  But  have  you  heard  the  latest  news  of  all  ?  " 

"  About  whom  ?  " 

"  Your  ex-guardian's  ex-clerk.  My  man  told  me  this 
evening  when  I  called  at  my  rooms.  It  seems  that  the 
day  before  yesterday  Slimp  wrote  to  Mrs.  Trent  (with 
whom  Lawrence  had  always  had  business  intercourse), 
paying  that  as  he  had  a  private  communication  of  grcaf 
importance  to  make  to  her,  by  which  he  could  save  her  from 
heavy  financial  loss,  he  should  have  the  pleasure  of  wait- 
ing upon  her  immediately  after  his  letter.  He  drove  to 
Ilarley  Street  in  a  hired  waggonette,  and  just  as  the  driver 
pulled  up  the  horse  before  my  aunt's  door,  something 
frightened  the  animal,  and  it  shied  suddenly.  Slimp  had 
been  leaning  back  in  his  seat  at  that  moment,  his  neck 
against  the  edge  of  the  rails,  and  the  sudden  start  in 
that  attitude  broke  his  neck.  He  lived  for  an  hour,  and 
spent  that  hour  in  a  vain  and  horrible  effort  to  speak — use- 
less, of  course  ;  and  no  one  will  ever  know  either  what  im- 
portant information  he  had  been  going  to  give  my  aunt,  or 


OLD  MYDDELTOX'S  MONEY.  365 

what  possible  confession  he  might,  ia  that  last  hour,  have 
wished  to  make.  I  don't  know,  of  course,"  concluded 
Hervey,  "  but  I  fancy  the  statement  he  wished  to  make 
would  have  been  a  betrayal  of  somebody's  confidence,  for  a 
pirpose  of  his  own  ;  but  let  us  give  him  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt,  as  death  overtook  him  so  horribly." 

"  It  was  horrible  indeed  !  I  remember  Lawrence  told  HB 
be  was  in  London." 

"  Yes,  and,  strange  to  say,  my  man  saw  him  going  from 
liere  only  a  few  minutes  before  he  sent  the  letter  to  Miss 
Trent.  I  cannot  understand  it." 

Nor  of  course  could  either  of  his  companions.  Of  the 
only  two  who  understood  it,  one  was  on  the  Atlantic,  and 
the  other  watching  beside  a  sick-bed. 

Hervey  Trent  had  decided  to  go  back  to  Westleigh 
Towers  next  day  ;  so,  before  he  left,  Alice  Myddelton  weut 
away  to  write  a  letter  to  her  husband. 

"  And  you,  Pboabe  ?  "  questioned  Hervey.  "  Shall  you 
write  to  Honor  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not.  You  can  tell  her  all  I  could  tell,  and 
she  will  not  care  to  have  to  read  letters  now." 

He  was  looking  curiously  at  her,  wishing  he  could  have 
heard  or  seen  her  reception  of  the  news  of  Lawrence 
Haughton's  departure,  which  she  had  told  him  so  coolly 

"  Phoebe,"  he  asked,  standing  before  her,  and  laying  his 
soft  white  hands  upon  her  shoulders,  "  are  you  fretting  ?  " 

"Fretting  !     How  do  you  mean,  Hervey  !  " 

"  I  mean — pardon  me,  Phoebe,  because  we  are  such  old 
friends — I  mean,  are  you  sorry  Haughton  has  left  Eng- 
land ?" 

A  real  laugh  ran  through  her  lips. 

"  I  did  not  care  at  all,"  she  said,  honestly  ;  "  I  cannot 
even  understand  now  how  I  ever  could  have  cared." 

"  That's  right." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  puzzled  more  by  his  manner  than 
his  words.  "  It  would  have  been  quite  natural  to  have 
fretted  for  my  old  guardian." 

"  Quite.     But  still  I  would  rather  you  did  not." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  again. 

"  You  would  have  fretted  for  him  if  you  had  loved  him 
still." 


8C6  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

"Of  course  I  should." 

"  And  equally  of  course  I  would  rather  that  yon  did  not 
fret." 

"  I  thought  it  unnatural  not  to  feel  it  more,"  she  snid. 
only  vaguely  comprehending  Hervey's  meaning,  yet  feeling 
a  quiet  sense  of  happiness  steal  over  her,  as  she  read  a  new 
i.iterest  in  his  face  and  tones. 

"  Phoebe,"  he  said  presently,  "do  you  think  that  anyone 
who  has  spent  a  good  many  years  of  his  life  loving  one 
person  with  all  his  heart  would  be  wrong  to  end  by  loving 
gome  one  elt-e  ?" 

"  Why  should  he  be  ?  "  she  questioned  simply. 

"  And  do  you  think  that  you  could  trust  anyone  who  said 
he  loved  you,  if  he  owned  at  the  same  time  that  you  were 
not  his  first  love,  nor — nor  loved  quite  in  the  same  way  ? " 

"  1  do  not  quite  understand  you,"  said  Phoebe,  her  face 
suffused  with  blushes.  "  Are  you  throwing  back  upon  me 
iny  old  silly  love  for  Lawrence  ?  " 

He  smiled  at  the  feeble  barricade  through  which  the  fire 
of  her  blushes  frankly  displayed  itself.  "  I  am  telling  you," 
he  siiid,  growing  more  and  more  earnest,  "of  a  love  for 
Honor  which  I  have  always  nourished  without  a  shade 
of  encouragement.  I  am  telling  you  that  now  I  know 
tin's  love  to  be  most  hopeless,  and  I  am  asking  you  if  you 
think  that,  having  feit  this  love,  I  have  any  right  to  offer 
another  love  elsewhere  ?  " 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Phoebe  understood  his 
nature  sufficiently  to  see  that  he  had  never  yet  felt  deeply 
enough  really  to  suffer,  and  that  this  affection  was  as  likclj 
to  be  lasting  as  his  first  ambitious  and  persistent  love.  She 
only  said,  in  a  tone  which  gave  him  more  hope  than  could 
any  other  reception  of  his  confession, 

"  No  one  could  help  loving  Hooor." 

"Thank  you,  Phcebe,"  he  exclaimed  heartily  ;  "and  you 
see  how  hopeless  that  love  is  for  me,  because  Honor's  going 
to  Westleigh  Towers  shows  that  she  loves  some  one  else." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  knew  before,"  he  added,  softly.  "  And  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  always  known  it." 

"  1  n*ed  fo  fancy  it,  but  I  was  never  sure  until  she  heard 
of  his  liiu  hs.  £nd,"  she  added,  with  a  thoughti'uluess 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  3G7 

which  was  new  to  lier  voice, "  none  of  us,  who  knew  Honor, 
can  believe  in  the  possibility  of  her  loving  a  second  time." 

"I  never  dreamed  of  that,  Phoebe  ;  never.  I  have  put 
away  the  old  love  for  ever." 

Another  pause,  and  then  he  gently  took  her  hands,  and 
holding  them  between  his  own,  asked  her  oue  more 
question. 

"  Phoebe,  we  know  all  about  each  other,  don't  we  ? — even 
about  those  other  loves  which  will  never  be  anything  more 
to  either  of  us — and  we  have  been  good  friends,  and  we  got 
on  well  together.  I  am  not  quite  the  vain  and  idle  fellow 
I  used  to  be,  and  with  Honor's  gift  of  the  bank  partnership 
I  shall  be  able  to  take  a  comfortable  house  and  live  in  good 
style.  Phoebe,  will  you  think  this  over,  and  when  I  come 
back  tell  me  if  yon  would  be  my  wife  ?  I  do  not  ask  for 
your  answer  now,"  he  added,  pitiless  for  her  blushes,  as  he 
keyt  her  there  before  him,  "  because  it  would  be  unfair,  as 
you  have  not  thought  it  over,  aiid  I  have  ;  but  let  your 
answer  be  Yes,  Phcebe." 

"  I — I  forgot  something  I  want  to  send  to  Honor,"  cried 
Phoebe,  and  ran  from  the  room  in  nervous  haste. 

"  It  was  best  to  give  her  time,"  mused  Hervey,  encourag- 
ing the  pleasant  consciousness  that  (won  either  now  or 
then)  Phoebe's  answer  would  be  a  happy  little  Yes.  "  It 
was  more  fair,  and  she  will  tell  Honor  before  I  need.  Rhe 
is  a  good  little  thing,  and  very  amiable.  I'm  really 
she  is  not  handsome — like  Theo." 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

r  would  not  raise 

Deceitful  hope  ;  but  in  His  hand,  even  yet, 

The  issue  hangs,  and  He  is  merciful. 

SOUTHET. 

A  HEAVY,  mournful  silence  brooded  over  "Westleigh  Towers, 
but  this  silence  centred  and  culminated  in  the  chamber 
where  Royden  by.  It  was  lofty,  like  all  the  rooms  at  the 


S68  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY. 

Powers,  bnt  not  large.  Though  handsomely,  it  was  but 
slightly  furnished,  aud  the  old  carved  bed  on  which  he  lay 
was  shrouded  by  no  curtains. 

Beside  this  bed  sat  Honor,  in  her  soft  white  dress  ;  lovely, 
in  spite  of  the  pity  and  sadness  on  her  face.  At  the  window, 
Miss  Henderson  was  spoiling  lier  work  with  tears,  though 
she  sewed  on  with  a  nervous  persistency. 

Shaded  from  the  light,  the  dark  worn  face  upon  the  pillows 
moved  to  and  fro  unrestingly. 

In  the  dressing-room  beyond  the  half  closed  door  the 
nurse  sat  waiting  for  a  summons,  and  downstairs  the 
physicians  were  again  consulting;  and  still  again  only 
reaching  that  one  reiterated  conclusion, 

If  he  could  but  bleep  ! 

"  Honor ! " 

The  girl's  head  was  raised,  and  she  listened  with  drawn- 
in  breath.  Again  a  moment  of  hope,  and  then  her  heart 
Bank,  as  it  had  sunk  a  hundred  times  before,  for  this  was 
no  recognition,  only  a  part  of  the  terrible  and  persistent 
delirium  through  which  she  sat  beside  him,  in  the  awful 
actual  pain  of  her  watching  and  her  love,  while  she  was 
unknown  to  him,  and  unheeded. 

"Honor — Honor."  The  whisper, .in  its  intense  and 
passionate  entreaty,  pierced  to  every  corner  of  the  room. 
"You  said  you  wuuld  not  come — here — to  my  own  house. 
But  Mrs.  Payte — promised.  Come,  dear — let  me  show  you 
— my  home.  Why  stay  beside  the  statue — I  remember — 
Leda  and — and  who,  Honor  ?  We  talked  about  it— you  and 
I — and  then  you  said — you  loved  me.  Ah  !  I  thought  the 
joy  would  have  killed  me.  But  joy  never  kills — pain  kills 
— and  fire.  Put  your  hand  upon  my  head — Honor — and  feel 
— the  flame." 

But  when  she  laid  her  soft,  cool  pi<>a  upon  his  brow,  he 
shrank  from  her  touch,  and  cried  how  tjuickly  the  waves  rose. 

"  Honor— Honor  !  " 

So  the  name,  hour  after  hour,  broke  the  silence  ;  some- 
times whispered  very  low  in  his  exhaustion,  and  sometimes 
uttered  passionately  in  fevered  strength. 

"Yet  when  she  knelt  beside  him,  and  met  his  restless  eyes, 
he  only  whispered,  with  a  smile,  that  she  was  safe  with  him 
and  he  would  brirm  Giibriel  back. 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S   MONET,  369 

Pleadingly  sometimes  she  called  him  by  his  Christian 
name,  stroking  his  hot  and  restless  hands  or  holding  them 
gently  to  her  lips.  But  still  he  did  not  know  her  ;  and, 
gazing  into  her  troubled  face,  would  cry  for  Kcnor  still. 
Sometimes  he  rose  and  pushed  her  from  him  vith  a  eudden 
momentary  strength  ;  but  sometimes  he  lay  as  motionless  us 
dea'h,  his  eyes  so  unnaturally  large  and  bright,  fixed  where 
she  could  riot  follow  them. 

Scene  after  scene  from  his  past  life  he  lived  again  in  this 
delirium,  but  only  a  very  few  of  them  could  Honor  compre- 
hend. She  knew  when  he  was  cheering  and  encouraging 
Alice ;  she  knew  when  he  was  answering  Lawrence 
Hangh ton's  base  suspicions,  and  she  knew  when  he  was 
telling  Gabriel  how  surely  his  innocence  would  one  day  be 
acknowledged.  But  worst  of  all  it  was  to  hear  him  hasten- 
ing his  horse  through  the  rising  flood  of  waters,  and  to  see 
him  hold  his  clasped  hand  for  hours  on  his  breast,  guarding 
Gabriel's  secret. 

Now  he  was  pitiful,  now  angry,  now  troubled,  and  now 
glad.  Now  he  would  lie  for  hours,  as  if  wrapped  closely  in 
one  all-engrossing  thought,  and  now  he  would  wake  the 
echoes  of  the  silent  house  with  quick,  clear  laughter.  It 
was  a  terrible  time  for  all  the  watchers,  but  far  the  most 
terrible  for  Honor  ;  and  still  that  sleep  upon  which  the 
physicians  built  their  only  hope  seemed  as  far  off  as  ever. 
At  last  there  came  a  day  when  Honor,  watching  as  ever, 
fancied  she  saw  a  change  in  the  thin,  dark  face.  Royden 
had  called  her  softly  once  or  twice,  and  when  her  eyes  met 
his,  so  closely  and  so  yearningly,  his  closed  ;  and  she  fell 
upon  her  knees  and  prayt-d  that  this  might  be  s!eep.  Dr. 
Franklin  entered  the  room  just  then,  but,  after  one  glance, 
passed  back  without  a  sound.  Miss  Henderson  dropped  her 
work,  and  sat  utterly  motionless,  us  if  a  breath  would  wake 
him.  Gabriel  stopped  on  the  spot  where  he  had  stood  when 
Honor's  sign  arrested  him  :  and  Honor,  still  on  her  knees 
beside  the  bed,  hardly  dared  to  draw  her  breath.  Ah  ! 
Buch  a  relief  it  had  been  to  see  the  lids  fall  upon  those  wide 
and  fevered  eyes. 

So,  in  hushed  and  breathless  silence,  they  waited  ;  no  one 
near  the  bed  save  Honor,  who  kuelt  just  where  his  gazo 
could  fall  upon  }iar  when  he  awoke.  "JfhG  awoke,"  as 


370  OLD  MYDDtt/rON'S  MONEY. 

Dr.  Franklin  suid.  So,  minute  after  minute  and  hour  aftei 
hour  went  by,  and  Sir  Edward  Graham  sent  various  tele- 
grams to  paiieuts  in  London  and  let  the  trains  pass  without 
him.  For  more  than  a  week  now  there  had  been  no  deeper 
hush  at  night  over  the  great  house  than  there  had  been  in 
the  day  ;  but  to-night  the  silence  was  so  intense  that  that 
past  silence  seemed  as  nothing.  Miss  Henderson  shuddered 
in  her  stillness,  remembering  Dr.  Frankliu's  "  If,"  and 
knowing  the  silence  could  not  be  deeper — even  then. 

Gabriel  Myddelton,  leaning  against  the  curtained  win- 
dow, in  an  attitude  of  intense  stillness  and  watchfulness, 
oever  moved  his  eyes  from  that  sleeping  face.  Would  the 
waking  ever  come  ?  Would  there  be  r  cognition  at  last  m 
the  fevered  eyes,  and  light  upon  the  dazed  brain  ?  Without 
the  faintest  movermnt,  Honor  knelt  beside  the  bed,  her 
eyes  patient  and  beautiful  even  in  their  agony  of  fear,  her 
hands  clasped,  and  her  whole  heart  pleading  \-  h  her  Father. 

•So  the  hours  passed  on,  and  the  silence  of  the  room  was 
only  broken  by  that  fitful  breathing. 

"  Ah  ! " 

It  was  Sir  Edward's  voice,  she  knew,  though  it  was  only 
a  half  breathed  whisper.  She  knew  in  an  instant  what  it 
meant,  for  she  had  herself  seen  something  which  prepared 
her  for  it — Roydcn  was  awaking.  Moved  by  an  impulse 
which  she  could  not  resist,  Honor  covered  her  face.  After 
all  that  had  gone  before,  the  suspense  of  those  few  moments 
was  unbearable.  A  sudden  pause  in  the  fitful  breathing  ; 
then  one  word,  uttered  in  an  awed  and  wondering  whisper, 

"  Honor  !  " 

But  that  whisper  told  her  that  the  light  had  come,  and 
that  he  knew  her. 


OLD  MYDDBLTQJT8  MONST, 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

Hero  she  oora«al 

In  the  calm  harbour  of  whose  gentle  \>> \  ust, 
My  tempest-beaten  soul  may  safely  i^t. 

DRTDEIT. 

THE  crisis  had  past!  Who  can  tell  the  magic  of  thos% 
words,  until — without  one  gleam  of  hope — they  have 
watched  the  fierce  and  awful  contest  between  life  and 
death  ? 

It  was  not  for  many  hours  after  Royden's  recognition  of 
Honor  that  they  dared  to  leave  her  alone  with  him.  A 
whole  night  and  day  passed,  while  he  lay  quite  still,  his 
breath  calm  now,  though  very  faint ;  his  eyes  always  follow- 
ing Honor's  form  if  she  moved  about  the  room,  or  cleaving 
to  her  face  when  she  was  beside  him.  But  when  the  quiet 
evening-time  came  round  once  more,  the  two  were  left  alone 
together. 

Then  her  long  and  bitter  penitence  found  words,  and 
very  quietly,  because  all  excitement  was  dangerous  for  him, 
and  very  humbly,  she  begged  him  to  forgive  her  that, 
though  she  had  loved  him  dearly  for  two  years,  she  had  been 
perverse  and  doubting,  and  had  let  him  fancy  that  she  did 
not  care  for  him.  Without  mentioning  Theodora's  name, 
she  told  him  just  a  little  of  the  true  cause  of  her  avoidance 
of  him  ;  but  the  blame  was  all  for  herself  in  this  confession. 
She  told  him  that  never  since  that  autumn  afternoon,  when 
he  had  told  her  that  he  loved  her,  had  she  dreamed  of  any 
other  love  ;  and  that — even  if  he  had  not  been  drue  to  her 
— she  must  still  have  been  all  her  life  true  to  her  own 
unconfessed  love.  She  told  him  that  these  last  terrible 
days  had  shown  her  that  he  had  cared  for  her  through  all, 
out  even  the  pain  which  she  had  given  him  was  less  than 
the  pain  which  she  had  given  herself. 

All  this,  and  more,  she  told  him,  her  low  voice  stirred 
and  broken  in  its  earnestness  and  humility  ;  and  though 
for  FO  long  he  did  nofc  answer  her  one  word,  she  understood 
the  love  and  happiness  which  lay  within  his  eyes,  and  the 


372  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

depth  and  earnestness  of  those  few  words  of  gratitude  which 
he  whispered  while  his  wasted  hands  closed  over  hers. 

Though  slow,  Hoyden's  recovery  was  steady  ;  and 
presently  the  day  came  for  Honor  to  leave  him.  He  lay  at 
the  window  in  his  dressing-room,  still  very  weak,  though 
suffering  little  pain  now  ;  and  Honor,  dressed  to  start, 
lad  corne  back  to  linger  with  him  to  the  last  minute.  Ai 
ihe  came  up  to  him,  he  rose  and  walked  a  few  steps  to  meet 
aer. 

"  My  sunbeam  !  "  he  said,  "  my  captured  sunbeam,  how 
can  I  spare  you  even  for  this  little  time  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  only  for  a  little  time,"  she  answered,  with 
a  smile  for  him,  although  the  sorrow  of  this  first  parting 
saddened  her  eyes. 

"  I  have  been  trying,"  he  said,  as  they  stood  together  at 
the  window,  his  thin  hands  wrapping  hers,  and  his  great 
;ove  even  strengthening  his  worn  face,  "  to  accustom  myself 
to  the  vacant  chair,  and  to  the  knowledge  that  the  form  and 
face  I  love  are  only  here  in  memory." 

"  But  I  did  not  give  you  time  to  succeed,  did  I  ?  "  she 
questioned,  brightly.  "  I  could  not  spare  a  minute  from 
this  last  hour." 

"  Honor,  my  sweet,  when  will  you  come — home  ?  " 

Very  simply  and  earnestly  she  answered,  while  the  bright 
pink  spread  softly  from  cheek  to  brow  under  his  yearning 
gaze. 

"  When  you  come  for  me,  Royden." 

"  Even  yet  it  seems  too  good  to  be  possible,"  he  said, 
^ith  a  long-drawn  breath,  while  his  eyes  left  her  face  for 
the  first  time,  and  strayed  out  among  the  plenteous  summer 
leaves  ;  "for  life  to  have  been  given  back  to  me  in  such 
fulness,  and  with  it  the  greatest  blessing  life  can  hold  !  A 
few  minutes  ago  I  almost  fancied  I  was  going  to  awake  and 
fmd  that  this  had  been  the  delirium  of  fever." 

"  That  delirium,"  she  said,  touching  his  cheek  softly  with 
ber  fingers,  while  a  shadow  stole  into  her  eyes  even  at  the 
mention  of  it,  "has  passed  for  ever,  Roy,  and  God  has 
given  us  to  each  other." 

And  at  her  touch  his  gaze  came  back,  and  his  weak  arms 
were  folded  about  her,  strong  for  that  moment  in  their  sens* 
of  ownership. 


OLD   MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  873 

A  call  under  the  open  window,  but  Honor  only  looked 
down  with  a  nod  and  smile,  while  she  tempted  Royden  back 
to  his  couch. 

"  Hervey  thinks,  as  he  has  come  on  purpose  to  fetch  me, 
that  he  must  give  me  constant  reminders  of  the  time,"  she 
said,  with  a  laugh  ;  "but  I  shall  trust  to  Gabriel.  He 
is  there  with  Hervey,  and  he  says  there  is  no  need  of 
haste." 

"  Gabriel  knows  how  precious  every  moment  is  oo  me." 

"  It  will  be  such  a  comfort  to  feel  he  is  with  you,  Roy  ; 
and  I  will  take  such  care  of  Alice.  But  I  want  to  ask  you 
one  question  before  I  go  ?  May  I  ?  " 

*'  So  doubtful,  is  it  not,  my  sweet  ?  " 

"  I  want,"  she  said,  her  face  and  voice  both  full  of  earnest, 
ness, — please  to  understand  me,  Royden — I  want  old  Myd- 
delton's  money  to  go  to  old  Myddelton's  heir." 

"Who  is  that?" 

"  Gabriel,  of  course.  He  is  the  only  Myddelton  ;  and  he 
ought  to  go  back  to  Abbotsmoor,  and  make  the  old  name 
loved  and  honoured  there." 

"  Honor,  my  darling,  the  power  to  distribute  this  wenlth 
was  put  by  old  Mr.  Myddelton  himself  into  his  sis-ter'a 
hands,  and  she  chose  you.  Gabriel  was  not  disinherited. 
He  was  to  have  the  same  chance  as  you  all  had." 

"  Yes  ;  but  he  never  had  it,  because  of  the  injustice  which 
had  banished  him.  But  for  that,  Royden,  I  am  sure  that 
Lady  Lawrence  would  have  been  the  very  first  to  acknow- 
ledge his  prior  claim."1 

"True,  dear  one  ;  but  the  fact  stands.  She  left  it  in  no 
whim,  but  with  sound  judgment,  built  on  long  thought 
and  observation ." 

"  You  are  only  tempting  me,  I  think,  or  trying  me,"  she 
•aid,  with  a  pleading  touch  upon  his  arm. 

"Am  1?"  he  asked,  with  his  rare  emile. 

"Yes;  and  I  believe  you  really  think,  as  T  do,  that 
tfabriel  Myddelton  must  have  Abbotsmoor,  and  his  uncle's 
wealth." 

"  His  name  is  freed  from  reproach," said  Royden,  "  and  cnn 
now  be  borne  uprightly.  He  has  sufficient  to  buy  a  little 
estate  to  hold  himself  and  Alice,  and  to  keep  sorrow  trom 
the  door.  He  tells  me  that  is  the  extent  of  his  ambiti.ua. 


or/n  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

So,  even  if  you  offered  him  this  gift,  you  would  only  heaf 
him  refuse  it.  For  years  he  has  believed  in  the  old  legend 
»f  theie  being  a  curpe  on  old  Myddelton's  money,  and  one 
can  sec,  even  yet,  the  traces  of  his  old  timidity  and  self- 
\strust." 

"  Royden,  I'm  wre  you  are  jesting  or  teasing  me.  Gabriel 
cannot  really  believe  that  old  superstition  ;  and  does  he  not 
know  now  that  you  will  help  him  ?  He  cannot  shrink  from 
wealth  because  of  its  evil,  when  you  have  unconsciously 
shown  him  its  good.  Roy,  you  are  the  friend  to  whom  he 
will  always  listen,  so  you  will  join  me  in  urging  this  ?  " 

"  Honor,  my  darling,  if  anything  could  kill  the  old  super- 
stition in  his  mind,  it  would  be  the  knowledge  he  is  gaining 
now  of  what  old  Myddelton's  money  has  been  in  your  hands." 

"I  have  never  even  lived  at  Abbotsmoor  yet,"  s;iid 
Honor,  blushing  vividly.  "The  work  there  has  to  be 
Vegun.  I  am  so  glad  it  is  for  him  to  begin." 

*'  Is  there  anywhere  you  have  lived  where  they  could  not 
tell  of  help,  and  comfort,  and  relief,  which  old  Mydc'elton's 
money,  passing  through  these  gentle  hands,  has  given  ? 
My  sweet,  look  up  ;  I  will  not  pain  you  even  by  words  so 
true.  But,  remember,  the  money  was  entrusted  to  you  by 
one  who  was  deeply  anxious  for  it  to  do  good.  And  remem- 
ber how  many  noble  and  generous  plans  you  have  begun  to 
work  out." 

"  Gabriel  is  very  earnest  and  very  generous,"  said  Honor, 
softly,  as  she  rose.  '  I  know — as  well  as  I  know  how  un- 
justly persecuted  he  has  been — that  he  will  wisely  and 
kindly  use  that  wealth  which  ought  naturally  to  be  his. 
Abbotsmoor  must  be  Gabriel's,  of  course  ;  and,  Roy,  I 
think  you  were  only  tempting  me  in  jest,  because  you  know 
there  can  be  really  no  doubt  about  it." 

"  There  can  be  really  a  great  deal  of  doubt  about  it," 
put  in  Royden,  looking  into  her  face  with  a  pride  which  he 
tried  in  vain  to  hide,  as  he  maintained  his  argument  still. 
*  Gabriel  will  be  the  first  to  see  this  doubt,  and  all  the 
fcoiid  will  see  it  afterwards." 

"  Don't  you  think,"  she  asked,  softly,  "  that  he  will 
rather  see  that  duty  bids  him  make  the  old  name  loved  and 
honoured  in  the  old  home  ?  iioyden,  I  know  you  will  help 
u>e  to  persuade  him." 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONirr.  875 

'  I  am  afrftM  I  shall,"  he  said  looking  down  npon  her 
with  untold  love  and  pride.  "And  if  Gabriel  does  accept 
it,  I  am  quite  sure  that,  in  his  gratitude  and  his  new 
earnestness,  he  will  continue  all  you  have  begun.  Ah  ! 
his  summons  already.  How  soon  it  has  come  !  And — and 
it  will  be  so  selfish  to  fetch  you  back  to  me  while  I  at* 
such  a" 

"  When  you  come,"  she  interrupted,  laying  her  fingers  on 
his  lips,  "  I  shall  be  ready,  Eoy.  G-ood-bye." 

"  And  this  parting  is  not  sad,"  he  said,  his  thoughts 
resting  for  a  moment  on  another  "  good-bye  "  which  she  had 
uttered  long  ago.  "  Tour  love  is  mine  now — mine  for  ever. 
Oh  !  my  sunbeam,  good-bye  !  " 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

Es  snmmt,  es  schwirrt  und  singt  und  ring*. 

SUCH  a  wedding  it  was  ! 

Miss  Trent  tossed  aside  the  papers  when  they  reached  her 
in  Baden-Baden,  and,  with  much  sarcastic  embellishment, 
told  an  English  gentleman  that  night  at  table-d'hote  that 
Mr.  Keith  of  Westleigh  Towers  had  outwitted  the  less 
diplomatic  candidates  for  old  Myddelton's  money. 

"  On  the  30th  mst.,  at  Station,  ly  the  Eev.  Walter  Homer, 
Honor  Craven,  to  Roy  den  Keith  of  Westleigh  Towers." 

This  was  the  simple  announcement  which  had  been  sent 
to  the  leading  papers  ;  but  it  had  not  prevented  the  para- 
graphs being  longer  and  more  glowing  elsewhere.  The 
wedding  ceremony  spun  itself  through  an  entire  page  in 
each  of  the  rival  Kinbury  papers,  and  the  dresses  and  the 
jewels  and  the  guests  were  dissected  in  whole  columns  of 
various  journals  devoted  to  rank  and  fashion. 

Honor's  dress  was  as  elaborately  described  as  if  it  had 
lent  the  bride  her  beauty,  instead  of  having  borrowed  its 
own  from  hers— as  a  bride's  should.  The  "charming 
galaxy  of  bridesmaids  "  bad  a  hundred  lines  to  themselves, 


376  OLD  MYDDELTON*3  MONEY. 

over  every  one  of  which  the  chief  bridesmaid  laughed  heartilj 
afterwards,  even  while  the  tears  stood  thickly  on  her  plea- 
sant Dutch  face.  The  "crowd  of  fashionable  guests  "  were 
named  separately,  and  admired  en  masse.  The  village 
decorations  had  a  minute  description,  and  the  gifts  were 
valued  at  a  fabulous  sum.  And — as  is  the  rule  prescribed 
on  such  occasions — fewest  words  of  all  were  bestowed  upon 
the  bridegroom  ;  the  Kinbury  weeklies  only  touching  upon 
his  recent  illness,  and  the  London  dailies  alluding  casually 
to  the  probability  of  his  leaving  his  mark  upon  the  times. 

Sir  Philip  and  Lady  Somerson  returned  from  abroad  on 
purpose  to  have  their  favourite  married  from  Somerson 
Castle ;  and  it  was  in  consequence  of  their  determination 
that  Honor  could  not  carry  out  her  anxious  proposal  for  a 
quiet  wedding. 

They  filled  their  beautiful  country  seat  with  that  "  crowd 
of  fashionable  guests  "  whion  the  papers  delighted  to  cata- 
logue. They  supported  the  "  charming  galaxy  of  brides- 
maids "  by  a  noble  phalanx  of  young  manhood.  They  em- 
ployed the  whole  village  in  bearing  flowers  to  and  fro  for 
jhe  decorations  of  the  church,  and  park,  and  village  street ; 
and  yet  they  never  fancied  they  had  done  enough  to  make 
this  wedding-day  a  festival. 

And  at  Station  Eectory,  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Romer 
laughed  heartily  over  Honor's  impossible  desire  for  a  quiet 
wedding.  Royden  had  come  the  day  before  to  stay  with 
them,  and,  from  early  morning,  the  village  had  been  filled 
by  Westleigh  people,  who  had  travelled  here  to  see  th€ 
marriage  of  their  master.  In  spite  of  the  three  hundred 
walking-sticks  which  had  always  rankled  in  Sir  Philip's 
breast,  he  threw  the  park  open  all  the  afternoon  to  these 
men  who  cheered  so  heartily  when  Honor  passed  among 
•;hem  in  her  youth  and  beauty,  and  these  women  who  so 
warmly  prayed,  "  God  bless  him,"  when  Royden  led  her 
through  the  crowd. 

Earnestly  Gabriel  Myddelton  echoed  the  prayer,  as  he 
and  Alice  walked  from  the  church  slowly,  step  by  step,  in 
the  long  line  of  guests,  while  the  joyous  notes  of  the  organ 
came  surging  through  the  porch  and  followed  them. 

"Ay,  God  bless  them  both  !"  murmured  the  rector,  as 
the  bells  clashed  out  across  the  autumn  landscape,  and  thert 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONEY.  877 

eame  into  his  mind  a  few  words  of  one  of  those  poets  whose 
verses  were  but  feebly  linked  about  the  memory  of  his 
college  days  : — 

Naught  but  love  can  answer  love, 
And  render  bliss  secure. 

No.  it  certainly  had  not  been  a  quiet  wedding,  and  Pierce 
was  not  the  only  one  who  smiled  at  the  notion,  when  the 
excitement  was  at  its  ebb,  and  the  travelling  carriage  rolled 
down  the  avenue  of  Somerson  Park,  followed  by  countless 
and  curious  missiles.  Pierce  sat  beside  the  young  Italian 
courier,  looking  down  upon  the  four  grey  horses  and  the 
scarlet-clad  postilions,  but  still  he  had  an  ever  ready  word 
or  glance  for  the  two  women  who  sat  together  in  the  roomy 
eeat  behind  him  ;  one  of  these  being  Marie  Verrien,  proud 
to  feel  that  she  was  as  much  Honor's  maid  as  was  the  plea- 
sant girl  who  lavished  constant  care  and  kindness  upon  her, 
and  never  allowed  her  to  realise  the  fact  that  her  employ- 
ment was  merely  an  agreeable  sinecure.  This  sojour- 
abroad — which  was  to  restore  to  Hoyden  his  old  strength- 
was  also  to  give  the  finishing  touch  to  the  benefit  whicti 
Marie  had  derived  from  the  life  of  ease  and  happiness 
which  she  had  spent  in  Honor's  home. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

Oh  I  the  little  birds  sang  east,  and  the  little  birds  sang  west, 
And  I  smiled  to  think  God's  greatness  flowed 

Around  our  incompleteness  ; 
Hound  our  restlessness  His  rest. 

E.  B. 


THEY  are  the  "Westleigh  bells  which  are  now  having  it  all 
their  own  way  with  the  summer  echoes,  and  telling  their 
tale  to  the  wind  and  waves,  which,  in  their  turn,  laugh  over 
it  among  the  rocks  and  leaves. 
Two  months  have  passed  since,  from  the  tower  of  Stattoi 


3V8  OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET. 

Church,  rang  out  the  tidings  of  their  marriage,  and  Royden 
and  Honor  are  on  their  way  home  to  receive  this  greeting. 
It  breaks  upon  them  brightly  and  musically  as  they  driva 
into  sight  of  the  high  towers  above  the  sea,  but  Honor  turns 
and  hides  her  face  upon  her  husband's  shoulder  then, 
because  she  sees  that  treacherous  bay  where  he  waa  found 
four  months  ago,  and  carried  home  as  dead. 

The  watchers  see  the  carriage  now,  and  a  signal  gun  ig 
fired  out  across  the  sea.  Then,  even  more  merrily  still,  the 
bells  peal  out ;  and  presently  a  band,  which  Royden  himself 
organised  long  ago,  among  the  "mill-hands,"  marches  to 
meet  them.  Now  rises  the  cheering  of  hundreds  of  voices, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  the  horses  are  gone  ;  and,  to  the  music 
of  the  cornets  and  the  voices  and  the  bells — all  harmonised 
by  loyalty  and  summer  gladness— their  own  people  wheel 
the  carriage  to  the  door. 

The  upturned  faces  greet  them  in  a  mass,  when  they  turn 
and  pause  in  the  arched  doorway.  Royden  thanks  them  for 
their  cordial  greeting;  and  while  they  answer  each  sentence 
with  a  deafening  cheer,  they  notice  how  the  very  mention  of 
his  wife  brings  a  wondrous  light  into  his  eyes,  beyond  that 
permanent  light  of  happiness  which  dwells  there  now. 

And  other  friends  have  gathered  -within  The  Towers  to 
welcome  Eoyden  and  Honor  ;  friends  whom  we  shall  look 
upon  to-day  for  the  lasttin>e. 

There  are  Sir  Philip  and  Lady  Somerson,  cordial  as  of  old. 
There  is  Mrs.  Romer,  bent,  as  of  old,  on  making  a  favourite 
of  Honor  ;  and  Mr.  Romer  recalling  with  a  smile  of  self- 
congratulation  how,  from  the  first,  Le  had  acknowledged 
Royden  Keith  worthy  of  a  hearty  and  profound  respect. 
There  is  Sir  Edward  Graham,  beaming  as  if  he  had  never 
looked  on  anguish  such  as  that  which  he  had  witnessed  in 
this  spot  just  three  months  ago.  There  is  Dr.  Franklin, 
uncharacteristically  hopeful.  There  is  the  old  vicar  of 
Westleigh,  confidentially  asserting  that  there  never  has  been 
such  a  scene  as  this  in  the  village  since  he  came  to  live  here 
fifty  years  ago.  There  is  his  young  curate,  in  whose  wake 
comes  a  grave  little  lad  who,  for  months  now,  has  not  only 
eagerly  devoured  the  lessons  that  he  gives  (the  payment  for 
w!  '>-h  doubles  the  y<  ung  curate's  saUry),  but  has  been 
with  him  ever  in  his  walks  and  in  his  work.  The  boy's  face 


OLD  MYDDELTON'S  MONET.  379 

flushes  and  brightens  into  perfect  beauty  when  Roy  den,  lay- 
ing a  gentle  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  tells  Honor,  "  This  is 
Margaret  Territ's  child,"  and  Honor  stoops  and  kisses  him. 

There  are  Phoebe  and  Miss  Henderson,  come  together 
from  the  Kensington  mansion,  where  Phoebe  is  preparing  for 
her  \vedding,in  a  state  of  happiness  unusually  cairn  and  quiet ; 
while  Hervey  makes  ready  that  London  house  where  she  will 
enjoy  her  drives  and  dresses — as  well  as  better  things — and  be 
thoroughly  happy  in  her  kindly,  simple,  and  prosaic  way". 
There  is  Hervey,  reading  a  new  translation  of  his  old  code 
of  etiquette ;  the  tones  which  used  to  be  so  s'ow  and  faultless 
stirred  and  broken  cow  as  he  thanks  Honor  for  that  gift  of 
Deergrove  which  she  bought  for  him  and  Phoebe  when  Mrs. 
Trent  saw  it  best  to  leave  the  old  neighbourhood — not  that 
Hervey  values  the  little  estate  for  its  memories  so  much  as 
for  its  proximity  to  Honor's  home  ;  and  because  it  is  such 
a  relief  to  him  to  feel  that  he  need  not  live  only  in  London 
all  the  year  round  ;  even  though  his  new  employment  is 
easy  and  pleasant  to  him.  There  is  Gabriel  Myddelton, 
inexpressibly  happy  as  a  well-employed  country  squire  ; 
proud  to  hear  the  congratulations  which  are  given  him  on 
the  manner  he  is  carrying  out — in  earnest  zeal — the  work 
Honor  began  at  Abbotsmoor  ;  and  using  wisely  and  kindly 
the  half  of  old  Myddelton's  money  which  was  all  his  cousin 
could  succeed  in  winning  him  to  accept.  There  is  Alice, 
well  and  strong  again,  because  no  secret  presses  on  her  now, 
and  her  husband's  name  is  loved  and  respected. 

So  those  belonging  to  the  old  life  are  all  here,  save  four. 
Mrs.  Trent  and  Theodora  ars  moving  restlessly  from  place  to 
place  upon  the  continent ;  unforgiving  (as  those  often  are,  to 
whom  the  wrong  is  due);  and  Lawrence  Haughton's  sister 
is  on  her  way  to  join  him  in  Melbourne.  At  his  first  invi- 
tation— honestly  though  curtly  given — Jane  left  the  house 
in  which  she  had  grown  to  middle-age  ;  sold  the  household 
gods  which  for  years  she  had  guarded  so  jealously,  and 
sailed  to  a  new,  strange  world  for  the  sake  of  this  brother  to 
whom — through  good  and  evil — she  had  all  her  life  clung 
faithfully.  Hard  and  cold  she  had  been  ever,  but  still 
there  ran  through  the  flint  this  one  pure  vein  of  gold. 

The  silence  of  the  autumn  night  has  settled  ciowD  upon 


880  OLD   MYDDELTON  S  MONEY. 

The  Towers.  Alone  at  last,  Honor  lingers  at  the  window 
in  her  dressing-room  ;  the  curtains  drawn  back,  and  the 
October  moonlight  falling  sofcly  upon  her,  as  she  stands 
there,  still  and  lovely,  in  her  long  white  dress. 

"  Sweet,  do  you  feel  that  this  is  really  home  ?  " 

Hoyden  has  come  up  to  her  so  quietly  that  his  words 
seem  only  a  part  of  that  long,  happy  thought. 

"  Our  home,  Roy  ;  where  your  love  will  make  me  happy 
beyond  words  ;  and  where  I  will  try  " 

"  And  fail,"  he  interrupts,  kissing  her  tenderly,  as  she 
nestles  within  his  arms,  "  you  have  made  me  happy  for  all 
time.  You  need  never  try  again." 

She  does  not  turn  her  eyes  from  the  moonlit  sea,  but 
they  are  filled  with  a  deep  and  full  content.  How  can  even 
she  herself  help  feeling  the  difference  her  love  has  made  in 
his  life,  always  so  full  of  generous  deeds  and  purposes,  but 
now  so  full  of  happiness  besides  ? 

"What  a  welcome  they  have  given  ns,M  she  whispers 
presently.  "  It  filled  my  heart  with  deepest  gratitude  to 
see  how  you  have  made  your  people  love  you  ;  and  I 
know  how  it  is,  Roy.  In  your  daily  life,  and  hourly  in- 
tercourse with  others — I  mean  in  little  things  as  well  as 
great,  by  trifles  which  so  many  of  us  do  not  think  of — you 
have  won  a  love  which  only  such  a  life  as  yours  can  win, 
my  husband,  and  which  never  can  be  otherwise  than  warm 
and  true." 

"  Honor,"  he  says,  lifting  her  face  that  he  may  read  his 
happiness  within  her  eyes,  "  do  you  know  that  Gabriel — 
and  not  Gabriel  alone — has  been  speaking  to  me  in  jus! 
such  words  of  you.  My  darling,  are  you  satisfied  with  all 
you  hear  of  Abbotsinoor,  and  the  working  of  your  plan* 
and  projects  ?  " 

"  Far  more  than  satisfied." 

"  And  you  will  let  me  help  you  here,  in  your  own  share 
of  the  work  ?  " 

"  Royden,  as  if  I  could  ever  think  of  anything  good 
which  you  have  not  thought  of  long  before  ! " 

"  Do  you  remember  that  first  day  we  spent  at  Abbots- 
inoor, Honor,  when  it  was  deserted,  and  the  shadow  of  a 
great  crime  lay  upon  it  ?  Do  you  remember  how  we  talked 
of  that  old  superstition  of  a  curse  hanging  over  the  miser's 


OLD   MYDDELTOX'S  MONET.  881 

wealth,  while  neither  you  nor  I  could  guess  in  whose  hands 
would  lie  the  task  of  scattering  it  ?  " 

"  Or,  whose  would  lift  that  shadow  of  crime  from  the  old 
name." 

"  The  task  is  not  finished,  is  it  ?  It  will  only  finish  with 
our  lives.  But  can  we  not  feel  to-night,  mine  own  dear  wife, 
that  at  last  there  rests  a  blessing  only  upon  old  Myddel- 
ton's  money  ;  and  that  day  by  day,  through  all  our  grateful 
lives,  the  blessing  may  grow  and  brighten  ?  " 

She  laughs  a  happy  little  laugh,  and  lifts  her  arms  and 
clasps  them  softly  round  his  neck. 

"  Oh,  Royden,  who,  in  all  the  world,  has  greater  cause  to 
try  to  make  others  happy  than  I,  who  am  so  happy  and  BO 
blest  1 " 


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